Enveloped in the Darkness
by Brigade
Summary: Harry was left at an orphanage after his parents met their demise. There, he finds nothing but suffering until he rejoins the wizarding world. Dumbledore may hope for a kind soul, but what he gets is a future Death Eater. Harry is Dark, Harry is ruthless, and he is siding with Voldemort. Pairings to be determined at a later date.
1. A Dream Deferred

**Hi! Welcome to my new story. This idea hit me during my car ride home from class tonight. Well, to be honest, a certain...event came to mind. This story rapidly began to take form in my mind as a way to reach that event. I have no idea how we'll get there, but we will, and I hope you will enjoy it.**

**As for now, let me know what you think. I have no idea what the rating needs to be, but I do think M will be necessary. I said during the description that pairings will be determined at a later date. Well, those pairings may be het, or god forbid, they may be slash. I want you to know this going in. Essentially, anything may happen. We will just have to find out together, won't we?**

**Review if you like it. Hell, even if you hate it, let me know. I want to improve as a writer, so any criticism is appreciated.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Crawford of London were a lovely couple, that much was certain. Charles was a former football player and a current school teacher at the local primary school in town. He was a broad – shouldered man and sturdily built, with a lively gleam to his soft brown eyes. Charles draped his arm closer to his wife, Angela, as the two walked toward their destination.

The laughter of children was contagious, or so Charles thought; their winning grins and unbridled joy brought him happiness. After an unfortunate knee injury abruptly ended his football career, he needed a bit of that happiness surrounding him. Teaching children the things they would need to prosper for the rest of their lives – what goal was more noble? However, there was something missing in his life.

And no, it was not poor Angela's fault, his wife of eight years. The two had met after one of his matches in a Manchester pub. The team had won and Charles had laid his eyes on the most charming woman he had ever seen. Angela sported gorgeous black hair, curling around her face in waves. Her blue eyes had found him that night, and Charles was hooked.

The couple had married within the year. In another, Charles' athletic career came crashing down and Angela was there to help him recover. Such a sweet woman…

'_Sweet, but barren_,' he thought dully for seemingly the thousandth time. The couple had settled in London and tried to start a family, but to no avail. The doctors eventually came to the sad conclusion that Angela was simply unable to have children – and how unfair was that?

It tore Charles up inside. Angela was such a sweetheart, helping to nurse him to health in both body in mind after his surgery. In fact, becoming a teacher had been her idea. But he had so much knowledge built up inside him, both of the world and of football to pass along to his _own_ child…

'_And that's why we are here,_' Charles thought with a smile. The faint sounds of tinkling laughter lifted Charles' morbid thoughts. Today, the couple planned to adopt a child from Ripley's Orphanage, a small orphanage located right outside the bustling city.

For all intents and purposes, Ripley's appeared to be homely. Children were playing on the playground to the side of the bright, brick building. Such liveliness brightened Charles' mood even further and he did not even bother to try to hide his grin.

"C'mon, honey," Charles urged her. "There's a child that needs us today."

Angela mirrored her husband's smile before returning her eyes to the children at play. In fact, there were more than she thought the orphanage would hold. Boys and girls of different age groups ran around, climbing, jumping, and giggling as they went. However, a group of older boys were huddled by the jungle gym.

"Let's go meet the staff, Charlie," Angela said softly. "They'll help us find the right child."

Charles grinned and rubbed his hands together in anticipation as they neared the front door, oblivious to what exactly the children outside were huddled over.

* * *

"Such a small runt, aren't you, Potter?" One particularly large boy snarled, kicking out at the defenseless body beneath him, enjoying the strangled cry of pain. "Did you see those people enter the building? They wouldn't want a creepy kid like you. They want a good kid, one who isn't so _weak_."

The bully punctuated his sentence by stomping on the little boy's hand.

Little was the only way to describe the boy writhing in pain. After all, the child was only six years old. Wild black hair was matted with dirt and blood as pained green eyes glared at their tormenters.

The boy, Harry, had never fit in at the orphanage. He had been left at Ripley's at the feeble age of one, left only with a note stating the boy's name and birthday. Ever since little Harry could remember, he had suffered at the merciless hands of the kids at the orphanage.

Harry was not _normal. _ He did not enjoy playing with others. He barely tolerated speaking with them. The only thing that made him happy was reading, something he had learned only recently. The books he read spoke of uncharted territories, unforeseen land, and mystical powers.

Oh how he wished he had those powers. The power to fly, the power to fight back, the power to win…the power to make his tormentors _stop_. Maybe his desperation for these powers was working. In the past week, Harry stumbled upon several things that did not make sense. One of the boys had tripped him a few days ago, ripping the sleeve of his only coat in the process. The weather was getting cold so Harry mourned the loss of his protection. When Harry awoke, his jacket was fixed. In fact, the jacket was in the best condition Harry had ever seen it. That day, Harry had been happy.

Only a few days later, one of the kids stole his lunch. And his dinner. Harry had gone to bed hungry that night, and the next day it seemed the kids had decided to see how long they could make Harry go without food. Finally, an adult stepped in, giving Harry a bowl of soup as the others went to play. Harry feasted greedily on the soup, but to his surprise the bowl was not emptying – it stayed full no matter how much he ate. As he was finally becoming comfortably full, Harry's spoon hit the bottom of the bowl.

But how did these things happen? It made no sense. Was someone looking out for him somehow? Another kick to his already bruised ribs brought him back to reality.

"You hear me, Potter? Those people don't want a runt like you. They want a good, strong kid like me. And if you mess this up for me somehow, I will make you pay, you little shit!"

The bully – Mike, today – finished his assault by kicking Harry across his jaw, clicking the latter's teeth together painfully. For Harry's part, he whimpered and remained still, trying to protect as much of his body as possible.

Every day was like this. There was no one bully, either; all the kids were mean. All of them wanted to hurt Harry just for the sake of it. It made them feel powerful, Harry thought. Oh, but he would change that one day. They would get theirs.

"_Leave, please leave_," Harry thought desperately, shuddering from the pain. It would not do to black out, either. The adults never seemed to really care. He and his problems were just a chore for them, something to be completed with a sigh.

"Children," Ms. Reed shouted. "We have visitors today! Come back inside, please!"

She had said please, but that was for whoever the visitors were. It was an order – everything she said was an order.

Ms. Reed was a middle-aged woman with several unflattering features, starting with her wispy hair and ending with her oily, clammy skin. She was an unnaturally thin and severe woman, punishing children for reasons that seemed unreasonable. Indeed, Harry had once been caned by the lady for eating too slowly.

Today, however, she was his savior as the boys retreated to the orphanage, but not before laughing over his pitiful position once more. Harry pulled himself up to wobbly legs, wiping his sleeve across the cut on his forehead. His jaw ached and his right side gave off a sharp pain with every breath. With one last measured, painful exhale, Harry shuffled his way back to the orphanage.

"Shut the door behind you – oh look at you, Harry!" Ms. Reed scolded, scrunching her beady eyes at Harry's battered appearance. "Go get cleaned up! We have visitors and I will not let such a pathetic sight ruin the other's chances at finding a family!"

Harry did not respond. What point was there? It was pointless to fight. He was not big enough, not old enough…not _strong _enough. He reached for the banister and made to climb the stairs to go wash up in the bathroom.

* * *

"Oh Charlie, look at him," Angela smiled, pointing to the small boy climbing the stairs. He was so cute with his large green eyes. The boy's shirt was stained by the earth. _'Probably an energetic little angel_,' She thought fondly. Angela had already made her mind up; she wanted the little boy to come home with them.

Charles grinned. The kid was a bit scrawny, but he could work on that. The child was young though, four or five at the oldest it seemed, which was perfect for Charles. He wanted to be a true father, raising a child through their entire childhood. If Angela had found her choice, he could certainly go along with it.

"We would like to meet him," Charles stated, pointing to the child as he disappeared upstairs. "Could we talk to him?"

"Harry?" Ms. Reed grimaced. There were so many better children here, ones that truly deserved homes. But if the pair wanted to talk to the boy, why not humor them? "Of course. If you will follow me, I will show you to a room where the three of you can meet."

Ms. Reed ushered the couple into the cafeteria area of the building, hissing behind her, "Mike! Go get Harry! These people want to talk to him." Mike glared, but took to the stairs two at a time.

Harry was washing the grime from his face when the door burst open. "Alright you little brat, what did you do to make these people want to talk to you?" Mike demanded, stepping forward to trap Harry between him and the sink.

"I dunno," Harry mumbled, casting his gaze at his ragged trainers. They people wanted to speak with him? Why? Surely not to adopt him?

"Well you and me are going to have a little chat after this," Mike growled, cracking his knuckles spitefully. "I told you not to fuck this up for me."

Mike was one of the older kids. At 13, he was running out of time to be adopted. And it was thanks to younger children like Harry that he was cast aside.

"I'm sorry, Mike, I didn't mean to," Harry whispered, hating his own words. He deserved a chance to be happy – he would not truly apologize for that.

Mike snorted. "Whatever, runt. Get your arse downstairs before those people find someone better," Mike grabbed a fistful of Harry's shirt, smirking before shoving the boy brutally out of the bathroom.

Harry crumpled at the top of the flight of stairs. Thanking his luck and ignoring Mike's final taunt of, "Nice shiner you got there, runt!" Harry made his way back downstairs towards Ms. Reed.

"Alright, boy; I don't know why they want to talk to a little troublemaker like you, but they want to," Ms. Reed started as she met Harry at the stairs. "Be polite, don't act up, and for Christ's sake, don't cry."

With that, Harry was pushed into the room where the two strangers sat. The man was grinning like a loon, his straight white teeth dazing Harry. The man was sitting, but still towered over Harry's young frame. The woman, a shorter softer looking individual, was not grinning like her husband, but her blue eyes were warm as well. Harry swallowed. Did they really want him?

"Hi, sport," The man started, his voice deep and rich. Harry moved closer to the man, hoping to hear him say more.

"Hello," Harry returned shyly, sliding into the seat opposite the couple.

"You poor dear, what happened to your face?" The woman cried, distressed to see the bruise taking up the entire side of the child's face.

"It was jus' an accident," Harry mumbled, gingerly touching his still-aching jaw.

"Poor baby," the woman whispered sympathetically. "What is your name?"

"Harry, ma'am," Harry said, his tiny hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "It's nice to meet you."

"It is great to meet you too, buddy," the man spoke up, his grin turning much softer, much warmer. It filled Harry with hope.

"We saw you come inside and we wanted to meet you," The man continued, reaching out to pat Harry's shoulder. "My name is Charles and this," Here, he wrapped his free arm around the woman. "Is my wife, Angela. We are looking to add a member to our family today."

Harry's heart soared. This was his chance! His chance to leave, to find happiness. He could not let this chance go.

"Do you like football?" The man, Charles, asked curiously.

Harry nodded eagerly. He had never seen a match but he did not want to disappoint the man, "Yes sir, erm-"

"Call me Charlie," Charles interrupted with a grin.

"Yes sir, Charlie," Harry finished, relieved to see the man smile.

"I used to play football, Harry," Charles said, revealing one of the ragged orphanage footballs from behind his chair.

"Like for England?" Harry asked curiously, leaning forward to look at the ball the man was twirling in his hands.

Charles and his wife both chuckled. "No, not quite. I was getting there though," Charles joked. "I am a teacher now."

"Is that fun?" Harry inquired. He had never been to school but it seemed like fun to him.

"It is for me," Charles laughed. "Maybe not so much for the children."

The meeting was going so _well_, Harry thought. The two, Charles – Charlie, he reminded himself, and Angela, were perfect. Charlie was rambling on about getting Harry signed up to play football and how the man would teach him. No one had ever cared so much before. He needed to show them he was worth it.

"I can do something cool," Harry blurted, interrupting the man in midsentence.

"Oh? And what would that be, Harry?" Charles teased, truly interested however to see the boy's "something cool."

"Hold the ball out," Harry said shyly. This was it, the moment that would assure him a happy future. The couple would love him and his ability. He was certainly desperate enough, and good things happened when he was desperate.

Harry shot off his chair and took several steps backwards, slowly reaching his arms out and _needing_.

In a matter of moments, the ball zipped out of Charles' open arms and into Harry's. Harry grinned down at the ball. It worked! The two of them would truly love him now! But when Harry looked up, two fearful faces met him.

"H-h-how did y-you do that?" Angela whispered, one hand holding onto Charles tightly. Charles gripped his knees with white knuckles, his mouth pursed but his eyes wide.

Harry shrugged, looking at the ground. "You don't like it, then?"

"That was a bit scary, Harry," Charles admitted, his eyes warily gazing at the little boy. Maybe they should reconsider…

"Please don't be mad," Harry pleaded, holding the ball out to Charles. "I didn't want to scare you, honest!"

"It's okay, honey," Angela said shakily, her eyes unwavering from the ball in Harry's hands. "Perhaps we should look at some other of the children though; it is only fair, after all."

"No!" Harry screamed, his heart tearing at the seams. He could not believe it. He had tried so hard to impress them and it was all crumbling down.

"I just wanted you to like me," He finished with a broken whisper. He could already see it in their eyes. They did not want him.

With that, Harry wrenched the door open, desperate to get as far away as possible; these people were just like the rest – it did not matter what Harry did, other people simply did not care. They had their own plans and they never cared. He was alone, truly alone in this world.

He hated himself for getting his hopes up. Of course it would not work out, it never did anyway. Those people wanted a child to raise, but they did not want Harry. He was just too freaky for them.

'_I don't need them_,' Harry thought viciously. '_I don't need anybody. Whatever it is that I can do, it makes me better. They can't handle it. I will be better than them one day, and then it will be _them_ that don't matter_.'

With that, Harry's heart turned cold.


	2. So I'm a Wizard, huh?

**I appreciate the feedback I've gotten so far. I would have had this chapter up earlier but I was out of town this weekend. This time around, we've skipped ahead 5 years. Harry is 11 and not as innocent as many would hope he would be. However, he is still impressionable. The Light side will get first crack at him, starting with this Chapter. Let me know what you think! The more feedback I get, the more motivated I am to find time to write.**

* * *

Harry locked the door behind him as he entered his bedroom. Or more correctly, the bedroom he shared with three other boys. Allowing himself a small sigh, he surveyed the cramped room. The two beds nearest the window were unmade with clothes and toys strewn about, littering the small walkway between them. The sun was peeking through the window behind low clouds, bathing the room in a golden light. Harry walked to his properly neat bed in the darkest corner of the room, picking up the book he had left by his pillow. Tossing his legs upon the mattress, Harry reveled in the peace and quiet.

Quiet was hard to come by, especially at eight in the morning, Harry mused. All the kids must have taken their place downstairs, greedily expecting food. Harry grimaced. Those kids were nothing but the worst of society; they were selfish, ruled solely by their emotions and appetites. They did not care about each other, only their own gain. Harry had been forced to accept this several years ago when that couple had met with him. He had received no attention from visitors since.

And that was fine with Harry. Those planning to adopt were selfish as well. They all wanted something. They held standards beyond just helping a parentless child; the child had to either be young or a certain gender – hell, some only wanted the positive publicity that came with adopting a child. It sickened Harry to even think about it.

'_That couple wanted me because I was young_,' Harry mentally scoffed, violently turning the page of his tattered book, '_I was cute. They didn't want me, but a child they could coddle_.'

But Harry did not need coddling by any means. Harry had vowed to become strong after that meeting with the couple, both physically and mentally. He was around average height for his age but was much quicker on his feet than the average child. That ability had gotten Harry out of several rough spots over the years. Of course, his other ability was even more useful…

Harry smirked broadly, enjoying the pleasant memories his abilities had granted him. For nearly five years, Harry practiced his unique abilities. Harry had once accredited his ability to "needing" something. However, with practice Harry had concluded that these abilities were controllable. If he desired something, Harry no longer had to wish and hope for help; now, he was in control. If Harry wanted to cause pain, well, his tormentors had learned their lesson.

'_Especially Mike_,' Harry chuckled softly. The older boy was now in jail; Harry had seen to that. Two years ago, the children at the orphanage were taken to see downtown London. Mike, sixteen at the time, had tried to rob an elderly woman. The boy was almost old enough to leave the orphanage and his chance of being adopted had long since passed. The boy needed money; for this reason he had taken his butter knife from breakfast to use to extort pounds from the weaklings of society.

Harry bit back another dark chuckle. Did the boy not realize that _he_ was one of the weaklings of society? People like him, a useless, blubbering waste of space, deserved nothing but pain and suffering. And the boy had dared to once torment him…well, the boy deserved a little extra pain and suffering for that.

'_And who's to say that Mike was not completely in control of his actions?_' Harry thought gleefully. '_The boy had ruthlessly stabbed the woman, several times in fact, before grabbing the dying woman's bag and sprinting away. And _truly_ it was such a relief that police officer had been near enough to see the crime_.'

Harry grinned once more, flipping the page of his book with enthusiasm. Honestly, the boy deserved it. Controlling Mike's actions were easy. Just a small bit of pressure on the boy's arm and Mike had jammed that knife into the woman's abdomen. Of course, he had only "helped" the boy with that first strike. The second, third, fourth, and fifth blows were solely fueled by Mike's greed.

Harry regretted using the woman as a tool in his revenge, but Mike's actions had cleared him of any guilt. One stab with a butter knife would not kill anyone. But by choosing to make his strikes fatal, Mike proved what Harry already knew; there was no place for people like Mike in society.

The police had taken him away and Harry was satisfied. Indeed, jail may even be a small mercy for Mike. The boy was obviously lost in the world, Harry mused. In jail, the boy would be provided all the things needed to suffer through the miserable existence he was destined for.

As for Harry, he knew he was destined for greater things. His…_powers_, they gave him an edge; he planned to exploit this edge as well. The book he was currently reading was a testament to this. The book spoke of things Harry already understood, quite a feat for a boy nearing his eleventh birthday.

A sharp rap on the door snapped Harry from his reverie. The knock was easily familiar. No child could be bothered to knock in this place. They all felt entitled to have anything they wanted, whether it was food, toys, or simply entering a room. The caretakers, however, liked to at least humor the idea of privacy. It was Ms. Reed at the door, Harry believed, an assumption made simply from the impatient, quick succession of the knocks. Harry bit back a sneer, placing _Mein Kampf_ face-down underneath the pillow as he stretched himself upright and opened the door.

"Boy," Ms. Reed started, her disapproval of him shining through. Harry frowned, knowing better than to correct the woman.

"You have a visitor. Get downstairs," Ms. Reed narrowed her eyes as she inspected Harry before adding, "and for God's sake put some better clothes on first."

Harry stared down at his black slacks and ragged red t-shirt. Did this woman not realize that Harry possessed no better clothing than this? Harry controlled his anger, instead issuing only a soft "Yes, ma'am" as he swiftly moved past her down the hallway.

That woman was a constant thorn in Harry's side. Every time he had been abused as a small child, she had turned a blind eye. Even worse, she looked down on his weakness. But he was not weak, and she had earned herself a very special place on Harry's "These people will pay" list. But that was not the issue at hand. Someone was here to _adopt_ him, Harry thought with a sneer. He did not want them, whoever they were. He did not need anybody else – with his abilities and mind, he would be just fine. He would be better than fine, he would be better than everyone.

Loose boards creaked under his feet as he descended the stairs. In the past five years, the orphanage had lost most of its early charm. The orphanage was relatively new, but the playground out back was growing rusted, the floorboards were rapidly warping from misuse, and the walls were dented from the rambunctious acts of its inhabitants. Harry eyed it all with disinterest. The orphanage had seemed to take on the appearance of Harry's childhood – dark, decrepit, and mistreated.

Harry reached the room Ms. Reed had directed him to, ignoring the rowdy noises coming from the cafeteria down the narrow hall. Harry needed to prepare for this encounter. Potential adoptees would hold too much control over him. It would seem to be most prudent to act as unfavorably as the children dwelling in these halls. It would not due to stand out amongst his "peers." Harry controlled his features and allowed himself a small sigh before opening the door.

The room was fairly small and cramped like many in the orphanage. A small, circular wooden table was placed in the center of the room holding a delicate tea set. Two sturdy, high-backed chairs sat on opposing sides of the table. Harry frowned at this; the chairs and table had never been there before. This observation was pushed to the back of his mind as his gaze met the woman sitting in the chair furthest from him.

The woman, even from a sitting position, was obviously tall, Harry speculated. Her black hair was spun tightly into a bun that sat on top of her head. Rectangular spectacles framed the woman's face, sitting in front of sharp eyes following Harry's every movement. Judging from the slight wrinkling of her features, Harry decided the woman was settled nicely into her middle years. Her expression and posture, however, caught Harry's notice. The woman was clearly educated beyond what the orphanage had to offer.

"Mr. Potter?" The severe woman began, standing swiftly to extend her hand in welcome, "Minerva McGonagall, at your service, but you may address me as Professor."

Professor? So she was a teacher? '_Let's hope she has a stronger stomach than the last one_,' Harry thought bitterly. He masked his thoughts however, shaking the proffered hand in front of him.

"Pleased to meet you," Harry replied softly. He cast his eyes on the woman's face. She seemed satisfied with him, as she gracefully sat back down and reached for her tea cup.

"I am here to offer you a place at our school, Mr. Potter," She began bluntly, her index finger tracing the lid of her cup, "But first I must ask you if you have ever seen anything strange happen."

Professor McGonagall's eyes snapped up to meet Harry's own. Harry remained impassive, but he knew what she was implying.

"Something, perhaps," Professor McGonagall continued slowly, "that cannot seemingly be explained?"

Harry remained silent for a moment, mulling over his options. This woman knew or at least suspected that he could do things others could not. Was she afraid of him like the rest? Or did she share his abilities?

"Perhaps," Harry said indifferently. Harry steered the conversation towards less dangerous waters, asking a question to sate his curiosity. "Where is this school, Professor? And why should I consider going?"

The woman smiled thinly, "Why, where else would you learn to do this, Mr. Potter?" Harry jumped out of his seat as the table between them caught fire. Harry turned wide eyes toward the woman, spotting for the first time a wooden stick in her hand. Oh bloody hell, this was not happening…

So she was a witch? Harry smothered a laugh at the sheer prospect of a witch existing, but here was the evidence right in front of him. What did that make him? Moreover, could she do the things _he _could do?

"The school, " Professor McGonagall continued as if the table, still burning by the way, had never caught fire, "Hogwarts, is a school for witchcraft and wizardry. The school resides in Scotland and the students arrive by way of train. There, we teach young witches and wizards the spells and information that will make them prosperous in our world."

Spells? "Our world"? Harry was completely lost. He did not use spells; he did what he wanted because he made it that way. How would spells be helpful when he could force things to simply happen? But that was not a question for McGonagall's ears, Harry was certain; it was better not to scare her away before he received more information.

"Pardon, Professor," Harry began, his own hands twitching in excitement over being able to light something on fire. That was something he had not tried…yet, "I am a little lost here. How, exactly, do witches and wizards differ from, erm –"

"Muggles," McGonagall supplied, hiding a smile behind her teacup.

"Muggles?" Harry echoed blankly. He was perplexed - what a crazy word.

"Indeed," Professor McGonagall affirmed, "it is the word we have assigned to refer to the non-magical population."

Professor McGonagall paused, setting down her teacup before returning to Harry's question, "The magical population has remained secretive for many centuries. We are a select few who hold the power to manipulate the world around us in ways that seem impossible. For instance, this table," Professor McGonagall flicked her wand at the table, dousing the flames, "was conjured. Conjuring is a field of magic in which objects and materials are produced from seemingly nothing."

Harry was enraptured. Ever since the table had been placed on fire, Harry knew he was out of his league. This woman knew much more about his ability than he had even considered. But this concept of magic – it went beyond anything Harry had even considered. The possibilities of such a power were enough to salivate over. Were there any limits to what could be done? How, exactly, did magic work?

Professor McGonagall, pleased with her future student's attention, continued, "Muggles do not possess these abilities. Magic itself is something that witches and wizards even now struggle to define. We are not the only ones who possess such an ability, however; creatures and different races harbor magical abilities of their own."

Professor McGonagall eyed Harry with a professional air. She was used to informing others of such things it seemed.

"I take it that you are interested in accepting our invitation, Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked dryly.

Harry was interested, of course, and the professor seemed to know that. Harry nodded silently, lifting a shaky hand when Professor McGonagall revealed a large envelope from her coat. Harry cast his eyes down at the green lettering:

_Mr. Harry James Potter_

_The Darkest Corner of Room 7_

_Ripley's Orphanage_

_London_

Oh goodness, magic was real. The revelation made Harry's heart beat even faster. Trembling fingers grasped clumsily at the fold of the yellowish envelope, pausing only to gaze over a purple seal on the back, bearing a coat of arms. Four animals - a lion, serpent, badger, and eagle – surrounded a large script _H_.

"Go ahead and read the letter," Professor McGonagall urged.

"Of course," Harry murmured. He reached into the envelope to grasp the letter and read:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. _

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall,_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Harry set the letter down slowly, rubbing the back of his head as he did so. He would simply ignore whatever the hell a Supreme Mugwump was for now in favor of learning more about the woman sitting patiently across from him.

"Excuse me, Professor, but what does your job as Deputy Headmistress entail?"

Professor McGonagall nodded at his question, quickly refilling her teacup – by magic, of course, sending Harry's heart racing once again – before replying.

"My job as Deputy Headmistress is most accurately described as one where I aid Headmaster Dumbledore in allowing the school to function properly. That being said, I am in charge of presenting muggleborn children with their letters and answering any questions they may have, even going so far as to help them retrieve their school supplies.

Your case, Mr. Potter, is quite unique. You have a…storied past to deal with," Professor McGonagall grimaced at this term, "Let me start by saying that you are not a muggleborn."

Harry raised his eyebrows at that. If he was not a muggleborn, and more importantly, if Professor McGonagall could be sure of as much, then it stood to reason that she knew who his parents were.

"You are the son of James Potter and Lily Potter, both of whom I taught," Professor McGonagall explained, "Unfortunately, they have both passed on. I will not sugarcoat this, Mr. Potter, for doing so is not beneficial to you. They were killed by a wizard who was as bad as they come. Even more unfortunately, this wizard was a prodigy compared to most. The man –"

"What is his name?" Harry quietly intervened. He did not need the man's credentials; he needed the man's name.

"His name _was_ Voldemort," Professor McGonagall said, pursing her lips at Harry's question, "and he has passed away as well."

"A shame, that," Harry muttered, "Who killed him?"

Professor McGonagall sputtered, "I never said he had been killed, Mr. Potter, only that he had passed on."

"People like that do not just die, Professor," Harry argued, "So I ask again - who killed him?"

"You."

Huh. Harry certainly was not expecting that. Harry had had his parents ripped away from him at the age of one. Such an act deserved revenge. He had already been planning on hunting this man down and making him pay for his crimes. To hear that he had already extracted his revenge was disheartening.

Professor McGonagall was sitting rigidly. She apparently did not appreciate his comments on the subject of his parent's murders.

'_Some bastard killed my parents and I am just now finding out about it_,' Harry mentally scoffed, '_she can suck a lemon for all I care_.'

"So how did I…kill him, Professor?" Harry asked, masking both his surprise and anger.

"That is complicated as well, Mr. Potter. I cannot explain the entire situation without delving into magical theories that would go over the heads of Hogwarts' most experienced students. Please allow me to put it simply for now; this man Voldemort was a Dark Wizard, one who wields magic of a more menacing nature. Dark Magic has been banned by the Ministry of Magic due to its destructive effects on it wielder, going so far as to alter –"

"There's a Ministry of Magic?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall snapped, "Please do not interrupt again."

Harry nodded in response.

"Dark Magic can alter the wielder's personality and appearance. There is reason to believe that this is what happened to Voldemort. There is a twist in all of this – Voldemort was a self-proclaimed Dark Lord, a champion of Dark Magic and those who use it. He had amassed a large following to challenge the Ministry and its control. This resulted in a war. Your parents fought against Voldemort and were consequently targeted for their position."

Professor McGonagall was losing her scholarly air. Harry could tell that this story affected her on a personal level. Her eyes softened as she continued her story:

"Your parents were both very special. You look extraordinarily like your father. He was a brave wizard who stood for what he believed in. When Voldemort broke into your parents' house, they both defended you to the best of their abilities. Unfortunately, Voldemort possessed unprecedented magical abilities. No one got the better of him. Until you.

"Voldemort cast what is known as the Killing Curse on you. It is a curse that causes the target to die instantly. It is one of the three Unforgiveable Curses, curses that are never permitted without justifiable cause. No one has ever survived the curse. Again, until you."

Harry's eyes were unblinking as they searched Professor McGonagall's face for the truth. So he survived an unsurvivable curse, huh?

"And how is such a thing possible, Professor?" Harry argued. "How did I live? Even more, how did that kill Voldemort?"

"I do not know, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall admitted.

Harry was lost in his thoughts. Who cared how he survived, really? He was not planning on having to do it again. What concerned him more was the thought that he was accredited with killing a man that had tormented the entire wizarding population. Such an act would not go unnoticed.

"What did the wizarding world think of Voldemort's death?" Harry asked.

"They rejoiced." Professor McGonagall said simply.

"You aren't telling me something," Harry accused.

"How perceptive," Professor McGonagall praised with a thin smile, "You must understand that the wizarding world was being oppressed by Voldemort's forces. Voldemort's death was and still is celebrated. You were the cause of the wizarding world's happiness; as a result, they adore you, a boy that they have heard nothing about for ten years."

"Fantastic," said Harry, his stomach turning at the idea of others fawning over him. Actually, he could use this in his favor…

"And so," Professor McGonagall recounted, "You have received your letter and you have accepted your place at Hogwarts. Now, I have one more thing to offer you; if you'd prefer, I can accompany you in gathering your school supplies for the upcoming year. There should be a materials list still residing in your envelope."

Harry fished the material list out of his envelope, scanning it quickly until his eyes rested on a wand. Oh hell yes. Multiple books were listed – Harry was eager to receive those as well.

Did he want Professor McGonagall to take him shopping for school supplies? Not particularly, but he was still new to this world and the concept of magic. At the very least, Harry could benefit from her presence. He still possessed many questions; Professor McGonagall's knowledge would be invaluable.

"I would like that, Professor. Where can we get all of this though?"

"If you know where to look, it is a fairly easy task to accomplish."

"And where should we look?"

"Diagon Alley."

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**Does Harry's disposition remind you of someone? It should. After all, he will meet that "someone" sooner than you may think.**

**Review! Review! Review one more time!**

**And I'll see you next time.**


	3. Wrong Place, Wrong Time

**A/N: Thanks for the feedback, guys! This chapter is slightly longer than the last one - close to 4k words. Honestly, these chapters are probably just going to keep getting longer. I don't think they will terribly long, but 10k words for a chapter is probable at some point. I think the length I've got right now is pretty decent; it takes me 2-3 hours to actually write (you know, after ordering everything, figuring out word choice, where to stop, those kind of things) and it probably takes you 10-20 minutes to read thoroughly. **

**Anyway, let me know what you think. If you have an insightful review I will respond, not only in a private message but perhaps at the end of a chapter. Discussing these characters with you make me examine the paths I have set for them in more detail; it helps me write better, essentially.**

**Anyway - Chapter 3. Enjoy.**

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London was...different when viewed from the back of a double-decker bus, Harry thought. Currently he sat alongside the prim Professor McGonagall on the way to "Diagon Alley." Harry had never heard of it, but if the professor was telling the truth about magic and the magical world, he never would have, would he?

The seat he was residing in creaked with every bump in the road. That was fine with Harry; every bump was one closer to being near magic. The thought made Harry feel warm inside. The two of them were nearing a place where magical items were stored and sold, everything from books to wands. How could he not be excited?

"What classes does Hogwarts offer, Professor?" Harry started, his mind already cataloguing the things he would like to learn how to accomplish.

"Hogwarts offers a core group of classes to all students, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said. She spoke freely; Harry had watched her swish her wand as soon as they sat down. Apparently, whatever magic she used made it to where the others riding the bus could not hear them.

"For you as a first year student, you will be studying Charms, Transfiguration – taught by yours truly – Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, and Potions. These classes we at Hogwarts feel are vital in the magical world and every student should have some knowledge of.

We do offer other courses, but only once the younger students grasp a basic knowledge of how magic functions."

Harry was looking out the window at the passing London landscape but he was hanging on McGonagall's every word. From an objective – and admittedly ignorant, he would have to fix that – perspective, Harry could agree. Herbology would probably be necessary for Potions, Potions seemed necessary at some level for defending oneself, and Charms and Transfiguration could probably help there as well.

"What other classes are there?" Harry asked. Just because he would not be taking them to start his schooling did not mean that he could not read about them.

"The other classes you may take once you are a third year," Professor McGonagall nodded, approving of his questions.

"We teach our students more specialized courses at that point. From there, you may choose to study Ancient Runes – "

"Runes?" Harry inquired.

"Yes but please do your best to not interrupt, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall scolded lightly.

Harry nodded but did not apologize; wanting to know more was not a crime, after all.

"Runes are markings that magic can attach itself to," She continued, her impatience with his questions seemingly forgotten, "Runes can be used in more advanced fields of magic – fields that you could not possible grasp at the moment."

Harry grinned. So that was a challenge, was it?

"What else?" He asked softly.

"Arithmancy is offered at Hogwarts as well, along with a class teaching the proper care of magical creatures, Astronomy, and Divination."

Professor McGonagall grimaced as she spoke the last class, Harry noticed amusedly. That did not bother him; learning the future was not something he really cared about anyway.

"We also have another class – Muggle Studies – but I doubt you are much interested in that, considering your situation."

Professor McGonagall cocked her brow as Harry scoffed.

"There's nothing interesting nor special about muggles," Harry muttered under his breath.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing, Professor."

The traffic outside the window was getting more crowded. Professor McGonagall had mentioned that Diagon Alley was in the middle of London and considering the buildings and cars pressing in on the bus, they were getting close.

"We also have a flying course," Professor McGonagall said suddenly.

"Flying?" Harry breathed. Oh wouldn't _that_ be useful?

"On brooms," the Professor elaborated. Harry's mood deflated slightly; still, any type of flying would be brilliant.

"Can witches and wizards fly without brooms, Professor?" Harry asked, unwilling to let his desire to fly unaided die.

Professor McGonagall hummed.

"Only a select few."

Harry smiled. As long as there was a chance, maybe he could get someone to teach him.

"Charing Cross!" The bus driver yelled from up front.

"Come along, Mr. Potter. This is our stop," Professor McGonagall announced, standing smoothly as the bus creaked to a standstill. Harry wobbled slightly as he stood but followed her down the bus' aisle. Once his trainers met the pavement, Harry looked around. They were not on Diagon Alley, or at least he hoped not; the buildings were all a moody gray color. A large, sturdy building was standing perhaps a block or so away, but the surrounding area was run down. The street seemed to be where small businesses made their home but some of the buildings looked uninhabitable. In fact, the shop nestled between a record shop and a bookstore was sporting several broken windows.

"Come." Professor McGonagall said. Harry mentally shrugged, following the Professor towards the run down shop that he had been mentally criticizing.

"By the way, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said softly as he reached towards the door, "Welcome to the Wizarding World."

Harry's eyes widened comically. Even for a kid who did not usually lose his composure, this was too much. A cozy pub sat behind the door as he passed the threshold. How was the pub this big? How were the windows fixed? How were those mugs on the counter cleaning _themselves_?

Harry took a moment to breathe, slowly surveying the people talking amicably around the pub. A small fire was nestled in the fireplace, keeping the pub comfortably warm. Professor McGonagall was standing patiently beside him as he took all this in. He had so many questions, but no time to ask them. Instead, he nodded shakily towards the professor and followed her as she walked to the bar.

"Afternoon, Tom," Professor McGonagall said briskly, addressing the barman.

"It's still mornin', Professor McGonagall," Tom said with a toothless grin. Harry studied the man for a moment. Tom was both old and quite bald, looking as if he never had a head of hair in the first place.

"Either way, Tom, I am not here for a meal; I am on Hogwarts duty, introducing another child to our world."

"Ah, yes, Professor. I wouldn't want to waste your time."

Tom's eyes travelled to Harry, his eyes bulging out of their sockets as he grasped his chest.

"Good lord, -can this be? Is this Har-"

"Obviously," Professor McGonagall snapped harshly, moving to block Harry from the inquiring eyes that heard Tom's exclamation. "We would appreciate it if you could show some tact, please."

"My apologies, Professor and erm –" Tom trailed off, his eyes never leaving Harry, "Well – if you would like to go to Diagon Alley, feel free to take the door out back."

"Thank you, Tom," Professor McGonagall supplied, her arm maneuvering Harry past the bar.

"One more thing!"

Harry turned back to look at Tom the barman. The man smiled softly and said, "Welcome. The Leaky Cauldron will always be open for you."

Harry nodded back at the man, slightly perturbed at the man who was probably still staring at him. Now that he looked around, Tom was not the only one staring.

"Everyone is staring at us." Harry muttered, warily eyeing the man who had dropped his drink. The man had not seemed to even notice, considering the man was looking in their direction with his mouth open.

"Not us, silly boy – you." Professor McGonagall said, a thin amused smile on her face.

"Well it cannot be me," Harry argued. These people did not even know what he looked like!

"I have taught most of the witches and wizards in Britain, Mr. Potter," The professor countered, "Most felt that I was an acceptable instructor, but I've done nothing to be famous for. However, Mr. Potter, as I said earlier, you look extraordinarily like your father. Due to how the last war ended, your father's appearance is well known. It is not such a stretch to think that you are Harry Potter. In fact, these people know your age; they may even be anticipating your appearance.

"Damn," Harry muttered.

"Language, Mr. Potter," She scolded, using her wand to tap on the brick wall that Harry had not even noticed.

With one last tap, the wall seemed to melt away, displaying the most interesting cobblestoned alley Harry had ever seen. Witches and wizards crowded the streets, wearing robes of all things. A myriad of color hit his eyes; shops were selling telescopes and whirling objects lolled around window displays. Books were totteringly stacked outside of one shop and another featured an assortment of vials with squishy-looking things labeled bat spleens, eel's eyes, hag's hair, and more. Harry's eyes could not keep up with everything his brain was processing.

"Seven sickles for a newt's tail? Why I never –" Harry heard one stout wizard say, snapping him from his daze. Professor McGonagall was looking at him again, doing nothing to conceal her amusement. Harry scowled before schooling his feature.

"Where to now, Professor?"

"To the bank, Gringotts. I shall have to leave for a while once we get there. I must ask you to meet me outside the bank once you are finished," She replied, checking her pocket watch briefly before motioning to Harry to proceed.

Harry walked silently, studying the shops as they passed. Flourish and Blotts seemed to be a bookstore; he would need to go there later for his school books – as well as some extra reading materials.

The people in the Alley seemed to not notice him, so caught up in their own shopping that they missed him. For that, Harry was glad. He was really not in the mood to put up with people; he had just learned that there was more to his powers than he previously thought; everything else would have to wait.

A large, marble building sat near an intersection in the cobble street. The words Gringotts Bank were engraved right above two imposing bronze doors. Harry narrowed his eyes as he spotted dark-skinned…things wearing some type of uniform in front of the doors.

"Goblins," Professor McGonagall supplied as soon as Harry started to speak.

Harry shrugged, nodding towards the nearest goblin as they passed through the bronze doors. The goblin did not acknowledge him except for slightly narrowing its eyes. The creatures did not seem too imposing, but Harry was certainly was not in a situation to test that theory.

Instead, he turned his attention to the poem engraved on the silver door in front of him:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed,_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors,_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware,_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

Harry's eyes flickered to a goblin watching him read, a sinister grin planted on its face. Harry smirked in turn, responding, "Is this a challenge?"

The goblin chucked darkly, "One that you would lose, young wizard. That I can assure you."

Harry ignored McGonagall's hand of warning on his shoulder, instead replying, "Perhaps I will test that someday."

"We shall look forward to it, wizard," The goblin shot back, "Us goblins love a bit of violence."

Harry laughed, nodding as he was all but carried away by Professor McGonagall.

"What on earth were you thinking, Potter?" She hissed. "Do you want to get yourself killed?"

"Not at all," Harry defended, still grinning at the goblin's words. "The poem is a challenge, Professor, not a death sentence. The goblins must know they are good. They don't think anyone could get past them.

If someone were to find a way to steal something, however," Harry continued. "I doubt there would be any consequences. The goblins would admit defeat."

"You will not be stealing anything of theirs! Do you have any –"

"I'm not stealing anything, Professor," Harry assured her. "I am just stating what I know."

Professor McGonagall led him towards a bank teller. The goblin sat behind a large marble desk, writing on a large piece of…something with a feathered pen.

"Pardon, sir. I have a minor with me who would like to visit his vault."

'_Vault? I have a vault?_' Harry thought as the goblin lowered his pen to look beadily at him.

"And does this minor have proper documentation or his key?" The goblin growled.

Harry raised his eyebrows. He certainly hoped that Professor McGonagall had an answer to that because he certainly did not.

"He has his key, yes," McGonagall said briskly, slapping the key onto the counter.

The goblin reached out, picking up the key before inspecting it closely. After a tense pause, the goblin eyes snapped back towards Harry's.

"Very well, Mister…Potter. Follow me."

The goblin hopped down from his high-backed seat, walking purposefully towards the large black doors at the end of the entryway with a set of keys in hand. Harry looked to McGonagall, only to notice that she was nowhere to be found. Harry shrugged before trailing after the goblin.

Beyond the black doors was a large, cavernous mine shaft, or so it appeared. The earth sloped down to a set of rails that ran alongside rocky cliffs. The rails led down the cavern before turning sharply around a ledge.

"Step inside one of the carts, Mr. Potter, and we can go to your vault," The goblin drawled, making Harry jump – he had spaced out again.

"My apologies. I was only introduced to the magical world today and I seem to be a bit out of sorts," Harry said, stepping awkwardly over the side of the cart.

"I find that hard to believe, Mr. Potter," The goblin replied, raising an eyebrow towards Harry.

"Yeah, it's true," muttered Harry. "I never asked what your name was, sir."

"Most wizards don't," The goblin scowled, "But I am called Bogrod amongst my people."

Harry nodded respectfully. He could sympathize with the goblin. Being looked down upon was never easy to deal with.

"So, I was trying to explain something to the woman with me," Harry started, enjoying the wind whipping at his hair as the cart took off, "Your words on the front door of the bank –"

"The rhyme?" The goblin inquired, a grin slowly forming on its wrinkled face.

"Right. It is not really an admonishment of theft, is it? It is more of a challenge than anything."

"Very perceptive," The goblin mockingly praised, "However, we feel that once a wizard has tried – and failed – to rob from us, they have given control of their lives to us."

Harry nodded. Any challenge had repercussions if a person failed the challenge.

"How is your magic different from witches and wizards?" Harry asked, remembering his question from the orphanage.

"We do not use something so hindering as a wand," Bogrod spat, "Our magic comes from within. We infuse our purpose into our actions, magnifying them to the point of excellence. Whether we smelt armour and weapons, fight, or manage vaults, goblins are superior because we mean what we do; there is no foolish wand waving or incantations."

Harry ignored the jab at wizards to analyze the goblin's words. So intent was their secret, the very thing that fueled Harry's own magic. There had to be something else, some key to becoming powerful.

The cart slowed as it veered around another corner. Harry let the momentum slide him to the other end of the cart. It was such an exhilarating feeling, to move so swiftly that his stomach would not settle. Harry could not wait to learn to fly, even if it was with a broom.

"Vault 687," Bogrod announced as the cart screeched to a stop. "This vault was your parents'. They left your inheritance inside."

Thinking of his parents made Harry feel sick. He wanted to hate them for leaving him at an orphanage. But it was that bastard Voldemort's fault, not theirs. If only they had been stronger, he may still have had parents.

Harry peered inside the vault as Bogrod opened it. His first impression was that no one could possibly need so much gold. That was, until he realized he knew nothing about how the currency system worked in the Wizarding World. Harry said as much to the goblin.

"Twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, seventeen Sickles to a Galleon," The goblin growled, gesturing to each as he spoke.

Harry stared dazedly. So apparently Galleons were a lot and he had _tons_ of those.

"How much will I need for school?"

"Roughly seventy-five Galleons, Mr. Potter."

Harry tried to analyze that in his head. Books could be a bit expensive, but robes and a wand must certainly cost more.

"Could I get double that, Bogrod?" Harry asked.

"Of course, Mr. Potter. Also, if you ever need more, mail us. We shall provide you means to prove your identity to obtain more gold."

Harry grinned, helping to scoop the galleons into a small bag, marveling as the bag never got heavier nor got bigger. He reentered the cart with a grin on his face and a full bag of coins in his hand.

"The quickest way up is to turn at the corner down here, Mr. Potter," Bogrod said, starting the cart once again. The cart raced into the darkness as they plunged further down. The cart had been at full speed for just a few seconds when a loud siren started blaring from the pocket in Bogrod's coat.

"Fuck," he muttered, slowing the cart to a stop before turning to Harry.

"Get out," He barked as Harry scrambled hastily to comply, "That challenge we talked about has been accepted. You will wait here and not move."

Harry nodded reluctantly, disappointed that he was not being taken along. "Where is the thief?"

"On one of the upper levels, the lower security vaults. No thief could ever hope to get near these vaults," Bogrod boasted.

Harry snickered but said nothing as he watched the goblin shoot off. That arrogance would come back to bite the goblins on the arse one day. Harry surveyed the area. He was standing in front of Vault 711. He could see the turn the goblin had been talking about. Harry sighed and sat down near the back wall.

Suddenly, a searing pain shot through his head, causing him to slap a hand to his forehead and cry out in alarm. The pain was centered in the scar on his forehead, a scar that he had gained in a jungle gym "accident." Or at least that is what he previously had thought. Why was the scar hurting this badly?

Looking around frantically, Harry spotted a dark figure down a ways from him. Harry staggered to his feet, the pain more intense as he looked upon the figure. Against his better judgment, Harry walked towards it.

The figure was tall, wearing black robes and a dark cloak with the hood pulled up. No features were visible in the dim light, but long white fingers traced the door to Vault 713. Harry gasped; this was the thief! How on earth did the figure get down here?

The figure's head turned in his direction. Harry groaned inaudibly as the pain in his scar hit a crescendo. He could just barely make out two red eyes from within the hood. Slowly, the figure raised its hand towards its face, raising one skeletal finger to make a shushing motion. Harry nodded faintly. He was shaking like a leaf and this was a challenge, was it not?

"Good boy," the figure whispered, turning its attention back towards the door. Harry watched with bated breath as the white hand traced patterns onto the door. A soft clicking sound was heard and the figure opened the door.

The figure growled in displeasure. Whatever it was looking for was not there anymore. Harry bit the side of his cheek as the pain in his forehead worsened even further. His hand had not left his forehead since the first spike of pain. The figure retreated from the vault, allowing the door to close with a thud. The figure stood silently before suddenly disappearing.

Harry exhaled loudly, the pain in his forehead subsiding. That man, creature – whatever it was – had scared him. Even now –

Harry's thoughts vanished suddenly as a hand grasped his hair and violently pulled backwards; at the same time, an arm wrapped around his neck, silencing the surprised cry threatening to break through. The pain in his scar was worse than ever.

"Remember our little agreement, boy," the figure hissed in his ear, "I would hate to have to kill you now."

Harry nodded swiftly as well as the arm around his neck would allow. He was in no position to do anything else. The arm constricting his breathing loosened slightly.

"Not so hard, is it?" The voice whispered, its breath tickling Harry's ear, sending shudders down his spine. "You were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time."

Harry listened to the figure – one that he could almost assure himself was male – and his words. The hand that had been previously digging into his scalp was now massaging it, almost as if in apology.

"I must go, but I shall see you again, Harry Potter. Of that, you can be certain."

The figure was gone again, this time it seemed for good. Harry gasped for air. Who was this person? How could they tell it was him in the dark?

Harry sighed shakily, making his way back to where the goblin had left him. He had promised to stay quiet. In all honesty, he would not have told anyway; the goblins issued the challenge. If someone could get away with it, how was it any of Harry's business?

But the figure – it had been so dangerous, so powerful, everything that Harry wanted to be. Everything that Harry _would_ be.

Harry stayed quiet as the goblin, moody from allowing a thief to escape, came back to take him to the top. Harry silently made his way through Gringott's entryway, towards the doors that McGonagall had asked him to meet her at. She was already waiting for him, eyeing a blundering wizard with displeasure.

Harry's mind drifted back to the figure's last words: '_I must go, but I shall see you again, Harry Potter. Of that, you can be certain_.'

Despite the foreboding tone the figure's words had possessed, Harry shivered in anticipation; he couldn't wait.


	4. Friends? That's New

**Tough week but a productive week. I am sorry that this has come out a bit later than I anticipated, but it's over 6k words! That should make up for it, right? Let me know what you think; Harry's going to deal with a lot of new things in this chapter. I won't spoil it for you, so stop reading this bold type and get to it!**

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Professor McGonagall sniffed with displeasure as a wizard fumbled for his vault key before nodding to Harry and walking out of the bank. Harry followed her quietly, still overcoming his shock at what had happened in the depths of Gringotts. His heart, minutes removed from the incident, still raced from adrenaline. He shook his head slightly to tune into the professor's words.

"…we ought to make our way back to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch, Mr. Potter; it is mid-afternoon and the Alley has become rather crowded."

Looking around, Harry realized that she was right; Diagon Alley was ridiculously crowded. Harry had been maneuvering through the crowd in his daze. Still, there was one place he simply could not wait to go to.

"Can we get my wand first?" Harry asked pleadingly, ignoring the slight growling of his own stomach. What was food compared to a _wand_?

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, perhaps to hide a smile at his exuberance. "Very well, Mr. Potter. Ollivanders is on the way to the Leaky Cauldron at least."

Harry grinned; he did not care if he seemed to be acting childishly – it was a bloody wand! Obtaining a wand would prove what he had always known; he was superior, to all muggles at the very least. He could do things that they could not already, but with a wand…his power would seem infinite compared to them.

Harry's mind however went back to the encounter with the figure near Vault 713; that person had not drawn their wand once and seemed _far_ more powerful than him. Those long fingers had moved gracefully along the door and it had opened, as if the figure's sheer will was enough to open it. No words had been spoken. No outward sign of magic, just like Harry's own – at least up until this point in his life.

'I'll never give up what I already do.' Harry decided. 'It seems to be special even amongst witches and wizards. But I will become superior with a wand as well.'

"Here we are, Mr. Potter."

Harry looked up at the tall, narrow building in front of him. It was a bit on the shabby side, but he could make out the words "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C." in faded golden letters. A cushion was placed in front of one of the shop windows with a narrow stick similar to Professor McGonagall's laying in the middle.

A small bell sound rang throughout the shop as Harry opened the door. It seemed magical; the noise flittered around as if moving around the store. Harry could not stop the small smile from forming on his face; magic was brilliant, even in small things like a song.

Looking around, the shop seemed much more spacious inside; perhaps that was because of how many narrow boxes were lining the shelves behind a sturdy wooden counter. Harry breathed in, enjoying the smell of the shop; it was similar to a well-used bookstore. Was that magic? He couldn't be sure, but it was comforting. Harry felt welcome, even _accepted_ for the first time in his life.

"Welcome! How may I…ah."

Harry swiveled his head in the direction of the voice. Standing near the back shelves was a thin old man. He had white hair that reached his shoulders, but the man's silvery eyes were shining from the back of the shop.

The man promptly dropped the thin boxes he was holding, walking swiftly past the counter to stand directly in front of Harry.

It perturbed Harry slightly to notice that the man had yet to blink. The man's silver eyes were wide, scrutinizing every inch of Harry's face. The man's hand grasped Harry's left shoulder in a vice. Harry, becoming more uncomfortable with each passing moment, tried to step back.

"Ah," the man breathed again, his hand shaking Harry slightly.

"You are scaring the boy, Ollivander!" Professor McGonagall snapped.

The man, Ollivander seemed to snap out of his daze, blinking twice to Harry's relief.

"I am Garrick Ollivander, Harry Potter. I have been wondering when I would see you – looking forward to it, I dare say. I am so very honoured to make your acquaintance, of course."

The man held out his hand, having since dropped from Harry's shoulder, which Harry accepted. "Nice to meet you too, sir. I'm here to –"

"To get a wand, naturally," Ollivander whispered with a faint smile.

Harry nodded back, wondering if he had ever met a more eccentric man before.

"Let's get started then!" Ollivander said eagerly, slapping his hands together, "What is your wand arm, Mr. Potter?"

"Erm – I guess it'd be my right one." Harry said, lifting said arm slightly.

"Good! Now, I'll just take some measurements…"

_'Some measurements?'_ Harry thought incredulously, '_Maybe, but how on earth does my nose length factor in_?'

Four sets of tape measures were zooming around his body, measuring places that Harry did not even know he had. He stood there bemusedly, just trying to focus on the magic of the process.

"Enough of that," Ollivander said distractedly as he scoured over a sheet of parchment. He waved his arm and sent the tape measures flying back to the counter.

'_Maybe magic without a wand is more common than I first thought_.' Harry mused.

"You do have some unnaturally long fingers for your age, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said, looking up from the parchment to wink at Harry, "I dare say that's a good sign for you."

"Erm – no sir." Harry said. How would something like that matter? "I have no idea what that means."

"Studies have found that there is a direct correlation to magical aptitude and finger length, Mr. Potter." Ollivander said, waggling his fingers mysteriously in Harry's direction. "However, that is not necessarily a sign of a strong witch or wizard; the harder one works –"

"The more they'll get out of it." Harry finished. Ollivander nodded, walking forward with a pleased smile on his aged face.

"So basically just do what I already planned to do," Harry murmured quietly.

"And what just do you plan, Mr. Potter?" Ollivander asked curiously.

Harry smirked. "To be the best."

Ollivander laughed at that. "Oh, Professor McGonagall, you may have a Slytherin under your care, today!"

Professor McGonagall looked none too pleased to be considering that.

"Slytherin?" Harry asked.

"Don't you worry a thing about it, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said, patting Harry on the shoulder, "Now! Let's get to uniting you with your wand. You know, I remember every single wand I've ever sold."

"Really?"

"All 41,916 of them," Ollivander affirmed with a pleased smile, "Professor, nine and a half inches, made of fir, dragon heartstring core, a bit on the stiff side, correct?"

Professor McGonagall nodded curtly.

Harry bit back a laugh. Not bad, not bad at all.

"As for your parents, Lily and James Potter," Ollivander continued, his voice softening, "well – Lily, beautiful girl she was - willow…such a good wand for Charm work."

"And James'," Ollivander's gaze flickered to Professor McGonagall. "Mahogany, a bit of a prodigy in your field, Professor."

Professor McGonagall nodded swiftly, her eyes glistening with emotion. Harry turned away, looking toward the boxes in the back. He would not allow himself to think on it; his parents were gone – it would not do to worry about them.

Ollivander moved past him towards a shelf to the left, grabbing boxes as he went. Harry raised his eyebrows when Ollivander returned to the counter, carrying so many boxes that the man's head was hidden from sight. In fact, he seemed to be balancing wand boxes on his head as well.

"Now," Ollivander said, allowing the boxes to fall and spread out over the counter, "Let's try to find you a wand, hmm? Try this one, Rowan wood, eleven inches, with a core of dragon heartstring. Quite springy. Go ahead and give it a try."

Harry had no idea how to give it a try, but took the wand from Ollivander. The wand did not feel special, so he reached out to hand the wand back to Ollivander.

SMASH!

"Bloody hell!" Professor McGonagall swore, swishing her own wand to vanish the glass. The window panes in the front of the shop had exploded when Harry raised the wand. Harry was starting wide-eyed.

"I'm sorry, Ollivander, I did not mean to do that at all." Harry said shakily. This was the first time his magic had ever acted beyond his control.

"Not a problem, easily fixed," Ollivander murmured, looking at Harry curiously. With a flick of his wand, the windows were replaced.

"I do think we have learned that a dragon heartstring core is out of the question though," Ollivander muttered, flicking his wand at the counter, sending several boxes back to their shelves.

"Try this – maple and phoenix feather, nine and three quarter's inches. Rigid. Go on."

That one did not work either, but thankfully did not produce the explosive effects of the first wand.

And so the hunt began. Harry tried wand after wand, but none were working. Even more, none even felt comfortable to hold; they all seemed heavy and obtrusive in his hand.

An ebony wand produced some feeble magic, levitating one of the boxes a few inches off the counter.

A yew wand later set the very same counter aflame. It embarrassed Harry to see his magic reacting with these wands; he could not control any of it, something that had not happened in a long time. Ollivander did not share Harry's impatience; instead, the man seemed to be enjoying himself more and more with each failed wand.

"I think we've discovered the length that suits you, Mr. Potter. That is progress." Ollivander said reassuredly after an ash wand jumped out of Harry's hand on its own.

"Really?" Harry asked. He had not really been paying attention to the length of the wands he was testing; there were just so many of them – fifty at this point at least. Professor McGonagall seemed to be growing restless as well.

"Ollivander, you must be slipping; you got my wand correct on the fourth try." Professor McGonagall said dryly.

"My dear, I must say that you are much more transparent than Mr. Potter here." Ollivander shot back, shoving a mahogany wand into Harry's hand.

Professor McGonagall clicked her tongue but said nothing else.

Finally, there was only one box left on the counter.

"Beech wood, Mr. Potter, with a unicorn tail hair for its core. Go ahead and try it."

Harry did, not surprised in the least when the wand did nothing. He set the wand back on the counter with a sigh.

"Thanks for trying, sir. I don't really need a wand anyway…"

"Nonsense," Ollivander interrupted, his eyes alight with intrigue, "Every witch or wizard needs a wand. Even if you were capable of wandless magic, you will always be able to cast more strongly with a wand."

Wandless? So there was a name for what he could do?

"If worst comes to worst, I shall make you a customized wand," Ollivander carried on, "But I still have some of the more unusual combinations to try."

Harry watched the man walk down the shelves, grabbing two or three boxes along the way. Suddenly, the man stopped in front of a black box.

Harry could hear the man mumbling to himself, but could not make out the words. Ollivander instantly dropped the boxes he was holding before eagerly snatching the black box off the shelf, walking back to the front of the shop. His eyes were wide again, staring fixedly at Harry's forehead.

"Try this one."

"What is it?"

"Just try it," Ollivander breathed impatiently, gesturing wildly with his right hand.

Harry shrugged and opened the box. Inside laid a shiny, dark brown wand. The handle curved downwards, providing a nice spot for Harry to grasp.

Instantly, Harry gasped, feeling heat rush through him. He could hear his heart beating, the whoops of joy from Ollivander and Professor McGonagall's sigh of relief. He was not paying attention to any of that, however. In his hand, the wand pulsed pleasantly, still sending warmth up his arm.

Dark red waves of magic began to sprout from the end of the wand. It left no aftereffects, but Harry could feel the waves run over the hem of his trousers and his trainers. His skin seemed to be glowing as well, as if the warmth was visible. Harry realized that he was laughing. Shaking his head to clear the sensations, he finally centered his attention back to Ollivander. He could not stop himself from grinning though.

"So very curious," Ollivander murmured, his gaze flickering between the wand and Harry's scar. "The wand you are holding, Mr. Potter, is an unusual combination. Holly and phoenix feather. What makes this wand even more unusual, well…"

The man took two steps forward, invading Harry's space once again. Ollivander reached up, placing two fingers on the lightning-esque scar residing on his forehead.

"The phoenix that produced the feather for your wand gave only one other feather; that feather resides in the wand of Lord Voldemort."

Professor McGonagall inhaled quickly from behind him, but Harry the news about his wand did not upset him; who cared who else had is wand's core? He now had a wand, one that worked well; he was happy. Why should he feel any other way?

"Yes," Ollivander continued sorrowfully, "I sold that wand to the man. Of course, he was only a boy at the time. If I had known what that little boy was capable of…"

Ollivander trailed off, looking Harry in the eyes. Harry stared back, wondering what the man had to say.

"You will do great things, Mr. Potter. I am sure of it. The wand will be seven Galleons."

Harry reached into his pocket to retrieve the gold coins but paused when a sudden thought entered his mind. Why should he only have one wand? If he were ever in real danger, wouldn't a backup wand come in handy?

"Er – Ollivander, could I possibly get another wand?"

Ollivander's eyebrows shot up. "Why would you want an extra wand?"

Harry grinned, "Two is always better than one."

"Mr. Potter, we do not have time!" Professor McGonagall scolded; Harry ignored her, keeping his focus on Ollivander.

"That is true," Ollivander admitted, "but the bond between wand and wizard cannot be duplicated. I could certainly sell you another wand, but it would not work nearly as well as the one you now possess."

Harry nodded. He would just have to work on alternate ways to defend himself.

Harry paid and followed Professor McGonagall out of the shop, holding his wand like a treasure. He did not even know how to use it yet, but it was worth more to him than his Gringotts vault.

"Where to now, Professor?" Harry asked, trying to avoid bumping into people in the crowded alley.

"The Leaky Cauldron, Potter. I cannot speak for you, but I could use lunch today."

Harry agreed. His stomach was rumbling and he had skipped breakfast.

The Leaky Cauldron was more crowded now than it was in the morning. Harry ducked his head, hoping to avoid starting a stampede; if all these people realized who he was all at once…

"Afternoon, Tom," Professor McGonagall greeted, "We would like to have ourselves some lunch before continuing our shopping."

Tom nodded eagerly, smiling toothlessly at Harry, "And just what can I get for the two of you?"

"Some sandwiches and tea would be fine, Tom, thank you."

"Do you have a place to sit that's not so, er – visible?" Harry asked. He would never be able to eat if all those people kept staring at him.

"Of course. I'll get you two a booth in the back."

The booth suited Harry perfectly. He sat with his back to the main room of the Leaky Cauldron to make sure no one recognized him.

Tom arrived shortly after seating them, levitating a tray filled with sandwiches and a jug of tea in front of him.

With quick thanks, Harry grabbed the nearest sandwich and started eating. The sandwich was great, much better than the trash at the orphanage. 'There's actual meat in this sandwich; that might be it.' Harry mused.

"…but how would anyone be able to break into Gringotts?"

Harry snapped to attention at that. It seemed that the news of the break in earlier had finally made its way to the Leaky Cauldron. Tom and Professor McGonagall were discussing it.

"I have no idea, Professor. Nothing was taken, however. How the criminal got away, I'll never know."

"This happened when we were there?" Harry asked, feigning ignorance. The memory of the mysterious figure, still fresh on his mind, flickered through his head again."

"Indeed. I cannot believe anyone was able to get past the goblins." Professor McGonagall replied.

"They are arrogant about their defenses. Perhaps the defenses are not as grand as they would like us to believe?" Harry said slyly. He knew the Professor had not forgotten his conversation with the goblin earlier.

"Mr. Potter, you are not stealing from Gringotts!" Professor McGonagall said sternly, making Harry have to hide a smile. 'Too easy.'

Tom seemed puzzled by the last topic, but snapped out of it quickly. "Mr. Potter, have you ever had any wizarding sweets?"

"No," Harry said, surprised at Tom's question. To be honest, he rarely had sweets at all. The last time he could remember was that small chocolate bar several years ago.

"Here, then," Tom reached into the pocket of his robes, pulling out a bright blue box, "Chocolate Frog, on the house."

Harry caught the proffered item, turning it over to read the label. Sure enough, "Chocolate Frog" was printed across the front. What truly disturbed Harry was the fact that the box was vibrating in his hand.

Harry thanked the man, despite his caution with the package. Tom smiled back before returning to work.

"Alright, what is this thing?" Harry asked, holding the blue box up to Professor McGonagall.

"A Chocolate Frog," She replied, a small smile forming on her face.

"Funny," Harry said sarcastically, "But really, why is it moving?"

"It is a charm on the chocolate allowing animate movement. Rest assured, the frog inside is purely chocolate." Professor McGonagall said dryly.

Harry was relieved but would not admit as much. Instead, he ripped open the five-sided box and snatched the frog inside. Eyeing the squirming frog dubiously, Harry nibbled at one of the legs.

'Not bad at all,' thought Harry happily, taking a much larger bite from the frog's midsection.

"There should be a card in the packaging. Some wizard children collect them." McGonagall said as Harry finished the last of the frog.

Harry shrugged, reaching back into the box to find a small card. An aged wizard appeared on the front with a long, white beard and hair. The man's blue eyes shined brightly behind half-moon spectacles and the man smiled pleasantly from the picture.

"Albus Dumbledore" the card read.

"Wait," Harry said suddenly, "This is the Headmaster of Hogwarts, right?"

"Correct, Mr. Potter. That is my boss, though he would hate to be called such."

Harry flipped the card over to read the cursive script:

_Albus Dumbledore_

_Currently Headmaster of Hogwarts_

_Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicholas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling._

_'Huh,'_ Harry thought. This wizard, the greatest of modern times, would be one of his teachers. That alone was brilliant. If he could get this professor to teach him personally...

Flipping the card back over, Harry was quick enough to see the visage of Dumbledore walk out of frame.

"Things move in magical pictures? Wicked." Harry smiled.

"Well said," Professor McGonagall said amusedly, "Now, let us get back to shopping. We need to get you some robes and your school books."

Harry nodded eagerly, jumping from his seat. He was looking forward to both; the books would teach him magic and the robes would help him identify as a wizard. He wanted to leave the muggle world for good as soon as possible. A sudden tug, however, broke his train of thought.

"'Cuse me," A little boy mumbled, tugging at the hem of Harry's shirt, "But are you Harry Potter?"

Harry sighed, looking around. Most people were engrossed in their own conversations, but two adults were starting at him with smiles on their faces. It seemed a mother and father had noticed him and sent their boy to meet him.

It bugged Harry, but it was certainly better than them shouting out his name. Besides, the little boy had done nothing wrong, right? The kid just wanted to meet a _celebrity._

"Yeah," Harry said, smiling for the boy's sake, "What is your name?"

"Michael," The boy breathed, his eyes going wide at Harry's admission, "I'm four."

"And I'm eleven." Harry shot back. Kneeling down, Harry reached out his hand, "I've got to go, but it was really nice meeting you, Michael."

The little boy ignored Harry's outstretched hand. Instead, the boy reached out and hugged Harry.

Harry grunted. Damn kid. Damn those parents, too.

"I'll see you again sometime." Harry said, forcing a smile as he stood, "Bye."

With that, Harry took off in the direction Professor McGonagall was standing in. The Professor's eyes seemed a bit misty.

"That was a really nice thing you just did. I must admit myself proud of your actions, Mr. Potter."

"I was annoyed," Harry scowled. "But it wasn't the kid's fault. His damn parents sent him over to meet me."

"Language, Mr. Potter. Nevertheless, you did not turn the boy away. I daresay you might have made him happy."

"Still, I guess it's better than them shouting my name," Harry sighed, not really paying attention to Professor McGonagall. "That would have been horrible."

"Indeed," replied Professor McGonagall, looking down at Harry with amusement. "Let's continue with our shopping, shall we? I believe you still require a set of robes."

Madam Malkins' was a fairly large shop at the north end of the Alley. Various sets of robes were displayed in the windows. Harry eyed one red robe distastefully; it was a vivid red that was just too much…_colour_ for someone to actually wear.

Inside, there was more of the same; robes were lined up everywhere in an assortment of colours. At the counter a squat witch stood, smiling pleasantly.

"Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall," The witch said, "How can I be of assistance today?"

"I've brought a new student out to acquire his school supplies Madam Malkin," replied Professor McGonagall, "I'm sure you can help with this endeavor."

"Of course, of course!" Madam Malkin said, beckoning Harry over. "Come along to the back of the shop sweetie, and I'll take some measurements."

Harry followed the squat witch beyond a black curtain to an area with multiple stools and mirrors. Two people already occupied the area – a witch pinning a black robe to a boy with brown hair.

Harry stepped onto the stool Madam Malkin was gesturing at, standing alongside the taller boy. Older, too, if Harry was correct.

"Getting fitted for robes is just so much fun," The boy grimaced, winking once Harry's head had emerged from the robe Madam Malkin had thrown over his head. "I'm Cedric, by the way. Cedric Diggory."

"Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."

Madam Malkin gasped, standing up to look at Harry. For his own part, Harry stared back warily. Malkin finally smiled, patted Harry's cheek, and went back to her measurements. Harry threw a disbelieving look toward Cedric, who chuckled.

"I reckon you get a lot of that."

"More than I would like," Harry murmured. "So you go to Hogwarts, right?"

Cedric nodded. "I'm going into my fourth year. Hufflepuff."

Cedric threw in that last word, acting as if it should mean something to Harry.

"What is a Hufflepuff, exactly? I heard Slytherin earlier, too. Do you know what that is?

"They are two of the houses of Hogwarts," Cedric grinned, his grey eyes sparkling. "Named after the Four Founders of the school." Seeing Harry's puzzled look, he continued, "All students are sorted their first day at Hogwarts into one of the four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."

"Oh," Harry said blankly, "So what classes do you take?"

"I take all the core stuff," said Cedric. "But I'm taking some electives, too. I'll be taking Ancient Runes and Arithmancy with all the core classes."

"Looking forward to it?" Harry asked.

Cedric shrugged. "As much as you can be looking forward to doing math," He joked. "But the rewards of learning that stuff are worth it."

Harry nodded, agreeing with the older boy. Knowledge was usually worth a bit of pain – even math.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, Harry…where have you been? No one has heard anything about you since…well – " Cedric finished awkwardly, looking worriedly at Harry.

Harry was smiling, though. This was the first person to actually empathize with his feelings on the subject. At least there was that.

"I've been living in a muggle orphanage," Harry replied. "I only learned that magic existed today, to be honest."

Really? That's…wow, that doesn't seem right at all," Cedric said wide-eyed, "And an orphanage, you say? That is outrageous! Any wizarding family would be estatic to take you in! Whose decision was it to put you in an orphanage?"

It was Harry's turn to shrug. "I don't know, but I'm not too happy with it, either."

Harry definitely was not happy with it. If what Cedric said was anything to go by, someone had to have made that decision. And because of that decision, Harry had been forced to suffer a muggle orphanage.

"Anyway, how are classes?" Harry asked, abandoning that train of thought before it ruined his mood.

"They are great," Cedric beamed, "Transfiguration is brilliant. We learned how to turn a lizard into a golden snitch replica a few months back."

"Golden snitch?" Harry asked.

"Oh I forgot, you don't know about Quidditch!" Cedric moaned. "I'll have to teach you; there is no way I could leave you to enter Hogwarts without knowing what Quidditch is!"

Harry listened to the boy explain the concept of four balls being in play, of flying brooms that sped through the sky, of the three golden hoops raised into the air at varying heights. Harry grew more eager to watch a game once the concept of bludgers was explained to him; how could a sport so seemingly dangerous not be fun to watch?

"I'm done, Cedric. You can take the robe off, now."

Cedric nodded, jumping off the stool after taking off the robe.

"It was great to meet you, Harry. I'll see you at Hogwarts, okay?"

Cedric held out his hand. Grinning, Harry shook hands with the older boy, "Sounds good. Nice to meet you too, Cedric."

And with that, the boy left, leaving Harry to contemplate his new…friend? That was new. He never was interested in making friends at the orphanage; all the kids were annoying and selfish, but Cedric had been nice, understanding Harry's plight and ignorance. The boy had even helped him understand what seemed to be the most popular wizarding sport. That was a kindness no one had ever afforded him.

Beyond Cedric, though, it seemed that the Wizarding World was different, in a very good sense. The boy earlier had hugged him. Professor McGonagall was helping him get his school supplies. For once, Harry felt wanted, like he belonged somewhere. It made his heart flutter, not that he would ever admit it. Still, he could not help the small smile that was on his face.

"I'm done, dear. If you want to return up front, I can check you out for these robes."

Harry hopped down and walked back up front. The pair paid for the robes and left the shop.

"All that is left now, Mr. Potter, are the books. Therefore, our final stop is Flourish and Blotts."

Flourish and Blotts was only a few buildings down from Madam Malkins'. Harry grinned. This was another shop he had been looking forward to visiting.

Inside the shop, Harry was in awe. He had been to bookstores before, but there were so many. About magic!

"The aisles on direct magical affects are on the left side, Mr. Potter. That is where you will find your Defense, Transfiguration, and Charms books. Over to the right are the historical books. In the back you will find books on potion making. If you can handle the books, I shall gather your potions set from the Apothecary a few shops over."

With that, Harry was left alone in book paradise. Deciding to gather the books as fast as possible so he could read a bit before the Professor returned, Harry rushed towards the nearest section.

Harry quickly learned that there was a magical ordering of the bookshelves. It was almost ridiculously easy to find his books. Harry quickly paid before taking his large set of books over to the area where some tables were set out. Each of the tables were already occupied, so Harry headed towards the nearest one, hoping the boy sitting there would share the space.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, but there is nowhere else to sit," Harry said apologetically. "May I sit here to read a bit?"

The boy looked up. He had a blond head of hair, blue eyes, and sharp features; Harry believed the boy to be around the same age as him. Would it be too much to hope for two friends in one day?

"Not at all," The boy said, nodding his head towards the empty chair opposite him. "My name's Malfoy, by the way. Draco Malfoy."

Harry smiled, setting his books down so that he could reach his hand across the table, "Nice to meet you, Draco, I'm Harry Potter."

Draco's eyes went wide for a moment, flicking up towards Harry's forehead, but he regained his composure quickly. Draco reached out, shaking Harry's hand once before releasing.

"The pleasure is mine," Draco said, eyeing Harry closely. "It is not every day one gets to meet a celebrity."

Harry grimaced. "Don't call me that. I only learned I was one today."

"Really? I don't see how you could not know, considering your past," Draco said snidely.

Harry only laughed in response. "That's the funny thing, Draco; I did not know anything about 'my past' either."

"And how is that possible?"

"I grew up in a muggle orphanage," Harry said simply.

If Draco's eyes had been wide before, they were bulging from their sockets.

"Pardon me…but, what?"

Harry grinned, enjoying the other boy's confusion, "I grew up in a muggle orphanage, Draco. I knew nothing about magic until this morning."

Draco was gaping. Apparently he did not believe that was possible.

"How did that happen?" Draco snarled, recovering from the shock. "How were you left at a bloody muggle orphanage? You, coming from a pureblood family; it is unspeakable!"

"Pureblood?" Harry asked.

"It is a term that describes a witch or wizard's ancestry," Draco explained. "Being a pureblood means that no muggle blood has tainted your family. I believe your mother was a muggleborn, so that makes you a halfblood, but still! You come from a pureblood family, one with a lot of influence and money. How was it that you were left at an orphanage in the muggle world?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "But I know that I won't be going back for long."

"It must be horrible there," Draco sympathized. "No one deserves that."

"It's bad," Harry agreed. "I knew at a young age that I was better than the others at the orphanage. I could do things they could not do."

Draco raised his eyebrows at that, seeming impressed. "Muggles are scum, Potter. And you are right, they cannot do the things we can. They are jealous of us, even if they do not know of our existence. They know they are not capable of anything extraordinary."

Harry nodded, agreeing again with the boy across from him. "I've been living in a world that does not fit me. I don't want to return there, but what choice do I have? I've never even gotten a birthday present before, for Christ's sake."

"I'll talk to my father about it," Draco replied, seemingly appalled at the idea of not having birthday presents. "He will not allow a wizard such as you to be abused in such a fashion."

"I'm not being abused, Draco," Harry said.

"Putting a wizard with lowly muggles is abuse, Harry," Draco shot back, making Harry smile.

"Thanks. I really hate it there."

"No problem," Draco said stiffly. "Are you looking forward to Hogwarts?"

Harry stared incredulously.

"Right, dumb question," Draco admitted. "Do you know what house you will be in?"

"I don't know how that is decided. Do you?" asked Harry.

"Of course," Draco said, finally closing the book that he had been reading before Harry had sat down.

"You do know the four houses?"

Harry nodded quickly.

"Right. Hufflepuffs are known for being hard-working, kind, and that's about it," Draco said, ticking "Hufflepuff" off on his fingers. "Ravenclaw is where all the obsessively smart people go. You know, the ones who value books over food and sleep."

Harry laughed. He was not that bad with books, but it was close.

"Gryffindor," Draco continued with a scowl, "is where the 'brave' go. Personally, I feel that they are more accurately the ones who are brave in meaningless situations. You know, the type that loud and brash."

Harry understood completely. There were a lot of "tough" kids at the orphanage. Tough, that is, until Harry had set them straight.

"And that leaves Slytherin," Draco smirked. "That's the house I will be in. Slytherins are known for their cunning and ambitious personalities. We are the ones who don't just talk about being brave or strong; we are those things."

Harry nodded faintly. "Back at Ollivanders, he said that I may be a Slytherin based on something I had said."

Draco grinned, "You should be one, Potter; between the two of us, we would rule Hogwarts in no time."

Harry smirked back. "That sounds good to me, Draco. I need to go though, unfortunately. I see Professor McGonagall."

Professor McGonagall had just entered the shop, her sharp eyes searching for Harry.

"Not a problem," Draco said smoothly. "It was great to meet you, Harry. I must admit that meeting you has been a dream of mine for a while."

"Really?" Harry asked with a smile. "Well, I hope it lived up to your expectations."

"It has," Draco said. "I will talk to my father about getting you out of that orphanage for good. Do you mind if I write to you?"

"Not at all," Harry said, positively beaming. "It will make this next month go much faster at the very least."

"Fantastic," Draco smiled, holding his hand out for another handshake. "I must be returning as well. My mother expects me back at the Manor at 5."

"Manor?" Harry asked.

Draco smirked. "Let's just say that we would have plenty of room to offer you, Harry."

Harry grinned back, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

"There you are, Potter. Are you ready to return?" Professor McGonagall asked, shrinking Harry's recently purchased books.

Harry reluctantly nodded, offering Draco a wave before heading towards the exit.

By the time the two had entered a bus to return to the orphanage, Harry was pleasantly exhausted. Today had been the best day of his life by far. He had gotten a proper meal with chocolate for desert; he had gotten a wand and some robes. Hell, he had even made _friends_.

The sun had begun to set as the bus came to a rickety stop outside the orphanage. Professor McGonagall helped Harry take his things upstairs to his room before handing Harry a train ticket.

"This will allow you to ride the train to Hogwarts. You will need to go to King's Cross. To find the train, you must pass the barrier between platforms nine and ten."

"And how exactly does that work?" Harry asked, eyeing the ticket reading "9 ¾".

"Just walk through." Professor McGonagall said with a smile.

The two shook hands before the Professor turned to leave. She paused just before opening the door.

"Before I go, I must recommend that you read your potions textbook before school starts. The professor can be…hard to deal with at times." Professor McGonagall said.

And with that, she left, leaving Harry in a world that seemed monotone compared to the world of colour, sounds and _magic_ that he had just learned about.

* * *

**So there you go. Harry's got some friends now! Isn't that great? He's actually acting a bit out of character here; he's so euphoric about the idea of magic that he's being all courteous and stuff. Anyway, let me know if there are any mistakes or anything - I finished the chapter at 3 a.m., spell checked it, and put it up here. I think it shouldn't be too mistake-ridden though.**

**I'm off to sleep. Talk to you guys soon.**

**Brigade**


	5. Dining with the Malfoys

**New chapter for you! You know what to do! Review, review!**

* * *

"You better keep reading, Potter. You wouldn't want to look like the fucking moron that you are at your new school," Stewart, a tall, reedy boy snidely said. The boy towered over Harry as he sat and ate his breakfast, a book open to the right of his plate.

Harry bit back a retort, outwardly cool but inwardly fuming. Word had gotten out around the orphanage of Harry's scholarship offer. The kids, being the selfish set of pricks that they were, decided to torment Harry over it. None of them had tried to lay a hand on him though, Harry wickedly thought, at least after the first kid. The boy had roughly grabbed Harry the day after returning from Diagon Alley with a fist raised. That boy was also now wearing a cast on his arm.

It would not do to keep injuring those trying to bully him, however; the caretakers of the orphanage would eventually punish him for it, loathe as they were to step in and actually do something. Instead, Harry had taken to reading his books – the "new" ones – behind a tree outside. The tree was around the corner of the building, an excellent spot to hide from the inhabitants of the orphanage. Harry also kept up his correspondence with Draco in the shade of that single tree.

Speaking of Draco, the young wizard had sent him his latest response earlier that morning. Harry smirked down at his plate. That owl of his was smart; it would not approach him unless he was truly alone. Usually this was as the sun was coming up. Harry was not so slothful to sleep the day away like the rest of the kids. That owl would also disappear for a few hours before returning for Harry's response. Magic was breathtaking, even in the little things.

Harry finished his admittedly poor breakfast and snuck back upstairs, grabbing a pen and a book to write on. From there, Harry went outside to read Draco's newest letter.

It was a bit chilly outside this morning, but Harry's hooded jacket easily kept him warm. It was probably the only article of clothing he owned that he liked. Black, soft, and with a large hood to help mask who he was from the other kids – what was there not to like?

Settling down, Harry reached into his pocket to remove the thick parchment. Unfolding it, Harry read Draco's elegant script:

_Dear Harry,_

_ Thank you for your latest letter. It has been a bit dull around the Manor these past few days so your correspondence was most welcome. To answer your last question, from what I understand, spell crafting is not taught at Hogwarts. Indeed, it is a very advanced category of magic that requires a thorough understanding of the magical affects you wish to accomplish and even more research into wand lore, magical movements, incantations, and so many other things I cannot even think of. Why do you ask? It is not something either of us could even consider doing at our current educational level anyway._

_ How have your readings been going? I hope you took my warning about my godfather to heart; he is a tough teacher; indeed, he taught me rudimentary potions for years. Even then, he was tough to impress. With only a week until school starts, there is not too much time to prepare for school to start._

_Father has been preoccupied at the Ministry. Minister Fudge relies on my father's advice and has kept him particularly busy this week. As I have stated before, he is aware of your situation and it working towards finding an easy solution. However, this brings me to what I need to ask you…_

_ Could you by any chance meet me in Diagon Alley today around lunchtime? My father wants to meet you. He has informed Minister Fudge that he needs the afternoon off for family matters and will be there with me. If you can make it, just be there; there is no need for a response. We can talk there._

_I shall see you there,_

_Draco Malfoy_

Harry grinned. All of Draco's letters were like this: lengthy, well-worded, and dripping with formality. Draco had given Harry a bit of a background on how "pureblood" society worked through their correspondence; from what Harry could discern, Draco had been taught many skills from an early age that most children did not even know about. The fact that Draco's father was deeply entrenched into the political world added another wrinkle into Draco's childhood.

Ultimately, however, that was just the type of person Draco was – a person dreaming big, like himself. Bringing his attention back to the letter, Harry could not help his stomach fluttering with excitement. Going to Diagon Alley to meet the Malfoys sounded like _fun_, much more fun than anything he could do at the orphanage at least.

Draco had been a well of knowledge of the magical world; he had indeed taken Draco's warning to heart about the Potions Professor, but he had read all his books with intense scrutiny. Three times. Each. Making notes in the margins on that third read-through.

Spell crafting was a natural question, he thought, after reading about so many different spells. Harry knew when he had penned that question that it would be over his head, for now at least.

Harry let his mind drift back to his meeting with the Malfoys. He would need money to get to Diagon Alley. That should not be too much of a problem; the adults running the orphanage had a room they left all their valuables in. Getting enough money to sneak out of the orphanage would be a breeze.

With his mind already made up, Harry tucked away the letter, stretching his stiff neck before going back inside. The halls were crowded with rambunctious brats, but that made breaking into the room even easier. With just a wave of his hand and a smirk on his face, Harry unlocked the door and slipped inside.

Bags and purses were all stacked on a large desk to the back wall of the room. A long row of coat hangers lined the wall adjacent to that back wall. With a mischievous grin, Harry contemplated the situation; he would only need a few pounds to get to downtown London and back, but why should he worry about exact totals? Someone could walk in any minute, right? It was better to just…take.

Harry quietly shut the door behind him, masking the large smirk on his face by looking down. His pockets were pleasantly full from his exploits. Now, all he had to do was walk down the block to the bus stop.

Harry grinned, setting off down the hall to the front doors of the orphanage. No one tried to stop him.

* * *

"Hello, again," Tom beamed, setting down the mug he was holding. Harry had entered the Leaky Cauldron with the hood of his jacket up. He was glad that the barman had enough sense not to say his name, especially when he so clearly was trying to avoid attention.

"Hi, Tom," Harry smiled, sitting at the bar with his back to most of the patrons, "I'm here to meet a friend. You, er – you wouldn't happen to have a place I could wait for him, do you?"

Tom nodded eagerly, "I've got a booth in the back with your name on it."

Harry grinned. It was so nice to have people willing to help.

"I hope you aren't being literal," Harry joked, following the barman.

Tom snickered, but did not respond. With a flourish, Tom instead directed him to a booth in the back corner.

"Let me know if you need anything. If you and your friend get hungry, lunch is on the house."

Harry ducked his head modestly. "Thanks, Tom; I really appreciate it."

Tom, grinning from ear to ear, bowed slightly before returning to work. Harry watched him go with a faint smile. Being a celebrity was _awesome_.

A small popping sound grabbed Harry's attention. Looking down, a small note had appeared on the counter top. Picking the note up with a frown, Harry read:

_Harry,_

_ My father and I are waiting for you at the entrance to Knockturn Alley. It is right across the way from Madam Malkins'. Meet us there._

_Regards,_

_Draco Malfoy_

Harry crumpled the note before jamming it into his pants' pocket. He had not noticed Knockturn Alley during his first visit with Professor McGonagall, but finding it should not be a problem. What really puzzled Harry, however, was how the note had appeared. How did Draco know where he was? Even more baffling, how did the note even appear?

'_Magic_,' Harry thought amusedly, standing from the booth, '_Now I have to go bother Tom again._'

Tom was currently taking some couple's order so Harry retook his seat at the bar to wait for him. Loathe as Harry was to interfere with someone who had been so helpful, Harry called out to the barman as he made his way toward the kitchens.

"Yes Mr. Potter, what can I do for you?"

'_Nice job_,' Harry thought sarcastically, rolling his eyes as heads turned swiftly in his direction.

For his part, Tom looked remorseful for his slip, but grinned as the scrape of chairs echoed through the Cauldron. Harry sheepishly lowered his hood, knowing it would not do to look reluctant.

"Sorry," Harry said with a sorrowful sigh, looking out gently at the crowd that was suddenly upon him, "I didn't mean to interrupt your meals."

The crowd swooned at his confession.

"Frederick Browning, Mr. Potter, at your service. This is my wife, Olivia…"

"Dorothy Frankfurt. I'm so pleased to meet you."

"Can I have an autograph, Harry?"

Harry contained his scowl, shaking hands and enduring hugs, outwardly appearing as pleasant as possible. He would, however, draw the line at signing autographs.

"C'mon, you don't want my autograph," Harry said sheepishly, "I'm just a kid, right?"

"No, no, please?" The young woman stuck a piece of parchment and a quill so close to Harry's face that he flinched. With a sigh, he took the items from the woman's grasp and dutifully wrote his name.

The woman squealed when he handed the items back, hugging both to her body as if he had given her a great treasure.

_'I guess that's what I am to them,'_ Harry thought, trying not to lash out at whoever had just patted him on the back, _'a great big living trophy.'_

"Are you looking forward to Hogwarts, Harry?"

"Definitely," Harry responded to whoever had shouted that, "I've read all my books already."

"Where do you live?"

Harry laughed, inwardly balking at the question. Did they really think he'd answer that?

"That's private, I suppose." Harry's next words were made on a sudden hunch, "Besides, I already receive tons of mail; as honored as I am by you all, I really need a place to get away for a bit, you know?"

"Will you marry me?"

"I'm eleven," Harry answered quickly, his eyes wide as the crowd laughed. "Marriage is the furthest thing from my mind."

"How did you beat You-Know-Who?"

The crowd got quiet and Harry stared in the direction of the question. Finally, an opening to get out of this mess.

"I think it's time for me to go," Harry said, smiling sadly at the crowd. They all protested, but Harry ducked his head and headed toward the bar where Tom watched on with a toothless grin.

"Get me out of here," Harry whispered urgently, "they are crazy."

Tom laughed but brandished his wand and headed towards the entrance to Diagon Alley.

"I am truly sorry about that, Harry," Tom said as the door closed behind them.

"I'm sure," Harry murmured under his breath, trying to memorize the taps Tom was making with his wand. If he did not have to rely on the man to get into Diagon, next time he could avoid a stampede altogether.

With one last tap of Tom's wand, the brick wall opened, revealing the golden swirl of magic that lay behind. Harry smiled once again despite himself. '_Home again_,' Harry thought fondly. The orphanage was nothing compared to this.

"I must go back inside, Harry," Tom said with a smile. "I hope to see you again soon."

Harry matched the barman's smile with a mocking one of his own, pulling the hood of his jacket back up before setting out onto the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley.

Madam Malkins' shop was not too far from the Leaky Cauldron, so the entrance to Knockturn Alley should be close. Harry was saved from searching too hard when he noticed a flash of bright blond.

Harry walked up quietly to the other boy. Draco was searching the street with a look of impatience plastered on his face. With a small grin, Harry realized that Draco had not noticed him.

"Hello, Draco," Harry said loudly, clamping a hand onto the other boy's well-tailored shoulder. Draco jumped nearly a mile high, causing Harry to laugh as he pulled his hood down.

"I appreciate the near-heart attack, Potter," Draco scathingly replied, his hand clenched into a fist, "But we must be going."

"Yeah, about that – where's your father?" Harry asked.

"He's waiting in a shop in Knockturn," Draco said, smoothing down his robes, "He decided that it would be better to have our meeting away from prying eyes."

Harry could understand that. Draco had told Harry all about his father, including his time under the former Dark Lord's Imperius Curse. Harry had decided not to hold it against the man; if the Imperius Curse was even half as bad as Draco had described it, there was no way Lucius could have escaped it. Still, most people would rather not see him leave some place alone with the Malfoys.

"That sounds good to me," Harry nodded. "Lead the way, Draco."

Draco gave him a quick smile before walking down the narrow steps that led to Knockturn Alley.

Knockturn was much different than Diagon Alley, Harry noticed. The buildings were much more cramped and the inhabitants were much more…interesting.

A small, old witch was holding a tray of what looked to be human body parts outside a shop. Harry was not squeamish, but he reckoned that those body parts were _not_ given willingly.

"Here we are, Harry: Borgin and Burkes."

Harry looked up from his study of the Alley to see a narrow building, much like the ones on either side. Resisting the urge to shrug, Harry followed Draco inside.

The shop seemed larger inside, though dimly lit. What truly caught Harry's attention though were the objects on display. Forgetting all about Draco, Harry walked up to a glittering jewel sitting on the shelf nearest him.

_Jade of Future Knowledge_

_The Jade of Future Knowledge is a precious jewel derived from the Inner Eye of a Seer that enables its user to view a future even in their life. The knowledge gained will be of interest to the user as the jewel will evaluate the desires of its wielder. A word of caution, however; much like the true visions of a Seer, the memory obtained from the Jade will not show how the memory came to pass. Likewise, the vision may lack details that paint a thorough picture of the future._

_For price and directions of use, ask for Mr. Borgin_

Harry's eyes widened with intrigue. If he were able to use this jewel, perhaps he would be shown how far he was on his path to greatness. Even better, it may show some of the knowledge that would be useful to him. If he could only use the damn thing…

A small, dignified cough interrupted Harry's train of thought. Spinning around, Harry finally took in the other occupants of the room.

Draco was standing where Harry had left him, looking exasperated as hell. Harry bit back a grin, instead noticing the man standing near the stone fireplace.

The man was tall and regal, with hair the same colour as Draco's but much longer, reaching down past his shoulders. The man's face was pale and pointed but handsome. The grey eyes followed Harry's observations sharply, but lacked any danger. Indeed, the man seemed to be scrutinizing Harry as well.

"Mr. Malfoy," Harry greeted neutrally, walking to stand in front of the man. For the first time, Harry noticed the cane Lucius Malfoy held within the fold of his robe. The cane was a shiny black, with a fanged snake head as a handle.

"Harry Potter," Mr. Malfoy responded, his eyes locking onto Harry's. "My son has told me much about you. Currently residing in a muggle orphanage, I hear?"

A sharp gasp was heard at the counter. A balding man stood there, his eyes moving rapidly between Harry and Mr. Malfoy. Harry had not noticed the man at first, but upon closer inspection, the man did not seem to be worthy of notice.

"Unfortunately," Harry replied, looking back at Draco's father, "though not because I wish to be there, you understand."

Mr. Malfoy nodded absently, reaching into is robes for a pocket watch. "Will you accompany my son and I back to our Manor, Mr. Potter? The conversation I wish to have deserves more privacy.

The man behind the counter sputtered something about his shop being private, but he became quiet when Mr. Malfoy raised his hand.

"This is not meant to be an insult, Borgin. Instead, I wish to be courteous to Mr. Potter for agreeing to meet with me. In fact, I invite him to dine with my family."

Harry raised his eyebrows. Cautioning a glance to Draco, he saw the boy nodding vigorously, his eyes wide and pleading. Harry bit back a laugh.

"I'd be happy to accept, Mr. Malfoy. Thank you."

Mr. Malfoy nodded, turning to the fireplace to grab a bag of some kind of powder. "I assume you have never traveled by Floo, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shook his head. Draco had mentioned Flooing in one of his letters, but he had never explained how it worked.

"Simply grab a handful of powder, Mr. Potter, drop it into the grate, and say the words, 'Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.' Our Manor's wards will bid you enter. Please floo first, Mr. Potter; I would like to be able to help if something goes amiss."

"Alright," Harry said, stepping up eagerly. New magic was always fun for him.

Mr. Malfoy held the bag of powder out to him as he checked his pocket watch once more. Dropping the powder into the grate, the orange flames became a deep green.

"Step inside," Mr. Malfoy urged. "And repeat after me: Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire."

"Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire," Harry said dutifully. Suddenly, his body lurched and his sight blurred. Harry shut his eyes, trying to block out the dizzying feeling that crept into his bones. Before long, his feet found something solid to stand on.

Stepping out of the fireplace, Harry looked around the room he was standing in. It was ridiculously pretty, Harry decided. A large painting of a beautiful landscape was hung behind a large, ornate table that dominated the room. Looking behind him, the beautiful fireplace was decorated by a large, marble mantle. Harry was distracted from his inspection when Draco stepped out of the fireplace.

"Welcome to our home, Harry," Draco said with a grin, sweeping his arms out in a large gesture.

"Thanks, Draco. I would return the favor, but I doubt you would like to visit my place of residence."

Draco scoffed, "You will not be there long if I have anything to say about it."

Harry felt his heart warm at the thought of someone caring like that about him, but he only nodded. That was all he had time for as Mr. Malfoy smoothly removed himself from the fireplace.

A small, elfish creature appeared to take Mr. Malfoy's cloak from him. Mr. Malfoy wordlessly removed it, tossing it towards the elf.

Harry mentally groaned; that was how Draco had given him that note. He had had a house elf do it, another of those topics the two had discussed.

"Now, let us take this gathering into the dining hall; your mother should already be there, Draco," Mr. Malfoy said, turning to lead the two boys.

Harry tried not to appear too awestruck, but it was difficult. The dining hall was shrouded in regal golds and soft browns. A long, shiny brown table sat underneath a beautiful chandelier, made up of what seemed to be hundreds of candles. Harry took a breath to calm himself; Draco certainly was not lying about the Malfoy's wealth.

Sitting near the end of one table was a beautiful woman. She had blond hair in common with the two Malfoy men, but of a darker tone. Her eyes were a pleasant blue as she smiled towards the three.

"My wife and Draco's mother, Mr. Potter," Mr. Malfoy said silkily. "Narcissa Malfoy."

Mrs. Malfoy smiled wider as Harry neared the table.

"Draco has told us a lot about you, Mr. Potter," Mrs. Malfoy said, her voice clear and soft as she spoke.

"Hopefully not everything," Harry responded, placing his hand on the back of a luxurious leather chair. "I would not want to seem too boring."

Mrs. Malfoy laughed softly. "I am sure you are anything but that, Mr. Potter. Would you please sit? Lunch shall be served in a few minutes."

Harry nodded gratefully, looking to Draco for what seat to take. Draco beckoned towards the one directly across from Mrs. Malfoy and right at the end of the table. Harry nodded before taking his seat.

The Malfoys were putting him a bit on edge. They were involved in politics and Harry had no misconceptions of the grilling he was about to endure. With Draco as his friend, though, he hoped to answer well.

Draco took the seat next to Harry as Mr. Malfoy sat at the head of the table. Another elf popped into existence to take Mr. Malfoy's cane. Once the elf had popped away, Mr. Malfoy turned his eyes back to Harry.

"Welcome to our home, Mr. Potter. I hope you find it to your tastes."

Harry laughed internally at that. Yes, Malfoy Manor fit his "tastes" just fine.

"Your home is spectacular, from the two rooms I have seen," Harry admitted, making sure to look at both Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. "Of course, I must thank you again for having me here."

"Think nothing of it," Mr. Malfoy announced. "Any friend of Draco's has earned our hospitality."

'_And all that entails_,' Harry thought amusedly.

"Draco informed us that you have not been aware of the magical world for long," Mrs. Malfoy intoned, surveying Harry's expression. "How have you been adjusting?"

"Spectacularly," Harry smiled. "Just knowing that there is something more out there, something truly amazing –"

"Ah, that is quite the description," Mr. Malfoy stated, leaning forward in his chair. "'Amazing,' is it?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Don't get me wrong; I knew there was something special about me for a long time. I could do things that the other kids at the orphanage could not dream of doing."

"And what would those things be, Mr. Potter?" Mrs. Malfoy asked, her expression curious.

Harry shrugged. "I could affect objects. The first thing I remember doing was willing a coat to repair itself. I learned to control it over time."

Mr. Malfoy looked impressed while Draco was openly gaping at him.

"You never told me that," Draco accused, sounding slightly upset.

Harry shrugged again. "It's not something I normally tell people. I am a driven person, Draco. I would not be telling you now if I didn't trust you."

"And just what are you driven to accomplish, Mr. Potter?" Mr. Malfoy said, bringing the conversation back his way.

Harry smirked. "To become as great as I know I can be."

Mr. Malfoy nodded his head slowly, "That borders on arrogance, Mr. Potter. Perhaps you could enlighten us as to why you feel this way."

Harry stayed silent for a moment, contemplating his words. They would not be received well by some people, but considering Draco's opinion on the subject, his words would more likely be agreed upon.

"First," Harry started, breathing in slowly. "Let me establish that I abhor the orphanage and everyone that lives there. I have no friends there. I am too different from them. Over time, I have learned that that difference is not just in personalities, but also in terms of power. I can do things that they cannot; they are nothing compared to me."

Mr. Malfoy's eyes widened a fraction, but he did not seem displeased.

"Go on, Mr. Potter," Mr. Malfoy urged.

Harry did.

"When Professor McGonagall came to tell me about magic, I was not…surprised. I knew there was something in me that set me apart, something beyond my enjoyment of reading and dislike of most people. And then the Professor informed me of my place in the Wizarding World, of the Dark Lord -"

Draco had warned Harry not to say Voldemort's name, especially around his parents. He could understand that. Their family had been so affected by Voldemort's reign.

"Let's talk about him, then," said Mr. Malfoy, a curious gleam in his eyes, "Draco has of course informed you of the Dark Lord's effect on our family. His effect on your life, however, has been much more severe. How do you feel about him?"

"At first, I wanted revenge," Harry admitted. "That man ruined my chance at having parents. I tried to blame the orphanage on him as well, but I've reconsidered that. Frankly, with my fame, I would bet that most families would have taken me in if they had the chance. That means someone consciously decided that I should be in an orphanage."

Harry sighed. He'd get that person for sticking him there as well.

"But as for the Dark Lord," Harry continued. "He has a lot to answer for, as far as I'm concerned. Unfortunately, he's not here for me to question."

Mr. Malfoy smiled. "It seems to me, Mr. Potter, from admittedly only a few minutes of conversation, that your opinion of muggles and the Dark Lord's opinion of muggles are shockingly similar."

Harry started at that. "How do you know that?"

"I had planned on joining the Dark Lord willingly," Mr. Malfoy said, sending a jolt down Harry's spine. "His plans and ideals largely coincided with mine. His view on muggles was refreshing, as was his stance on blood purity. The Dark Lord wanted to change the Wizarding World for the better."

Harry shut his jaw quickly. "And just what were those views?" Harry asked.

"The Dark Lord was quite the politician. He gained followers amongst purebloods by agreeing that blood mattered to a certain extent. Purebloods have amassed a wealth of knowledge and power that other wizards would like to ignore. It is much like your opinion regarding muggles; we purebloods hold something _more_ in us that gives us this power. The Dark Lord understood that."

Harry nodded. That made sense to him. The pureblood families worked together; that was nothing to penalize them for.

"He felt muggles were a threat due to their sheer numbers. However, he felt much like you do; that overall, muggles possessed no great talents, that they pale in comparison to Wizardkind."

Harry felt himself nodding along again. "All of this is reasonable – in fact, I would go so far as to say that this is correct. Who would deny these things?"

"Ah," Mr. Malfoy started, a wry smile forming on his lips. "Muggleborns dislike the truth. They want to feel important – and they can be, if they accept Wizarding culture. However, they take their preconceived muggle notions into this world and pollute it."

Silence stretched between them. Harry glanced at Mrs. Malfoy. She was looking at him expectantly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Draco was pleading Harry to agree with his eyes.

Looking back at Mr. Malfoy, the man seemed perfectly composed. In fact, he looked pleasantly surprised at how the conversation had turned out.

"I can see how this would be the case," Harry murmured, suddenly distracted by the food that had appeared on the large plate in front of him. "But I…wish to make this observation for myself. You, however, seem to speak very highly of a man who enslaved you. Why is that?"

Mr. Malfoy sipped at his goblet before answering, "I do not appreciate the way the Dark Lord manipulated me, but I approached of my own free will. I still agree with the beliefs the Dark Lord held, but not with the way he approached change. I fear that our topic of conversation is far too engaged for polite dining, however. Might I ask how your planning for Hogwarts has been going?"

After taking a bite of chicken – delicious, by the way - Harry recounted his readings to the Malfoys. Harry received yet another warning about the Potions professor, agitating him slightly. '_I can handle a damn teacher,_' Harry thought with exasperation.

Draco piped up in a big way. Apparently, this type of conversation was what he lived for. Mrs. Malfoy too. Between Draco and his mother, Harry felt he was up to date on everything related to Hogwarts. The pair discussed fashion trends with Harry as Mr. Malfoy ate in silence. Harry was not one for fashion, but since he had no clue how fashion worked with robes, he decided to listen.

"What I do not understand is how witches and wizards cope with how restricting robes seem to be," Harry argued. "How do you run in them?"

"It is not proper for decent witches and wizards to partake in such hooliganism," Draco said stiffly, as if rehearsed. Across the table, Mrs. Malfoy nodded.

"Sometimes such a thing is necessary," Harry shot back. This time, Mr. Malfoy was the one nodding.

"I generally have my robes with a cut in the back, Mr. Potter," He said. "I find that that alone helps greatly."

Harry nodded his thanks before asking a question about conjuring, thinking back to his meeting with Professor McGonagall. In the end, Harry had seven book recommendations on the subject, including one that Draco had a house elf retrieve.

"One thing that seems woefully missing from our curriculum is offensive magic," Harry stated. That grabbed the attention of all three Malfoys.

"They generally teach more offensive magic later on, Mr. Potter," Mr. Malfoy responded. "Though if you'd like, I can recommend a few books for you."

Harry shook his head.

"I would like that, but even then it would be things like disarming opponents and disorienting them, right?"

Mr. Malfoy made no response, so Harry continued. "Sometimes that is not enough. Sometimes the only way to stop someone is to physically…restrain them."

Mr. Malfoy steepled his fingers, a shrewd look in his eye. "Have you heard of Dark Magic, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded. "How can you have a Dark Lord if you do not have Dark Magic?" He joked.

Mr. Malfoy laughed softly. "How, indeed? Dark Magic seems to be what you are describing. It is magic of a more powerful nature, magic that used both offensively and defensively."

"What makes something considered Dark Magic?"

Mr. Malfoy smirked. "If the Ministry cannot regulate it, it is Dark."

"That's ridiculous," Harry said incredulously. "How can they manage magic so carelessly?"

"It has taken a long time, to be certain," Mr. Malfoy responded. "I will admit this to you; I practice some magic that would be considered Dark by Ministry standards, but I am not hurting anyone. I am simply using everything at my disposal, am I not?"

Harry nodded vigorously. He was getting quite a course in magical philosophy today, it seemed.

"I will not discount anything that can help me realize my potential," Harry said bluntly. "Nor will I let it control me as Professor McGonagall claimed."

Mr. Malfoy nodded approvingly before a smile overtook his lips.

"So you see Dark Magic as a tool, not evil in itself?"

"Yes," Harry said, wondering where this was going.

"If that is the case," Mr. Malfoy drawled predatorily. "And you agree on the previously discussed views on blood and muggles, then why hate the Dark Lord? Are there any remaining qualms you have with the man?"

Harry paused. Honestly, he did not really want to think about it. "But he's gone, right?"

Mr. Malfoy just smiled.

Lunch ended pleasantly enough. The four discussed several other polite topics during that time before Draco showed Harry around the Manor. It truly was beautiful, he decided. The white peacocks on the lush lawn were a bit much, but Harry could appreciate the show of wealth. Why else would you buy bloody peacocks?

Draco talked of his friends as he showed Harry around. Most were purebloods that he knew from parties. In fact, they had all undergone some rudimentary education together. The conversation turned again when Draco showed Harry his room.

The room was brilliant. Harry had to admit he was jealous, though not out loud. Draco had a bloody sitting area in his room. The wall was lined with shelves filled with books and a small pen that enclosed a miniature, moving dragon. And the bed…oh it looked lovely.

Draco showed Harry his broom and described how flying worked. Harry was enraptured. To fly through the air with reckless abandon was a dream he had harbored for years.

"I can show you how to fly, if you wish," Draco stated mildly, as if he could not see Harry's eagerness.

"Please do, Draco," Harry replied. Before Draco could do so, however, Mr. Malfoy entered the room, holding several books under one arm.

"Mr. Potter, I have several books to aid you in your studies," he said, laying the books out onto Draco's luxurious bed. "Some of these are on the art of dueling, containing the offensive spells that you were looking for."

Mr. Malfoy paused, picking up two books near the end.

"These are on Dark Magic," He said softly. "If you are truly interested in the subject, these books will act as a beginner's guide. Please contact me if you have any questions at all; this is not a subject to delve into without help."

Harry nodded, truly grateful for Mr. Malfoy's help.

"I also feel that it would be prudent to bestow you with this."

Mr. Malfoy reached into his pocket to remove what looked like a small box. Running the tip of his wand over the object, it expanded quickly.

Harry bit back a gasp. It was a trunk! He had never had enough possessions to ever need something like it, but with his new school supplies, he was having trouble keeping them out of sight.

"Thank you," Harry breathed. "Truly, I do not know how I can repay you."

Mr. Malfoy laid a hand on his shoulder. "Think nothing of it. I need to take you back to your…home."

Here, the man sneered, as if such a place did not earn the title. Harry agreed wholeheartedly.

With a wistful look around the room and a reluctant sigh, Harry finally nodded. He had been in the Manor for nearly five hours. He could not trust being away from his possessions for too long, anyway. The damn brats at the orphanage would mess with them if they got the chance.

"As for your housing situation," Mr. Malfoy continued. "That was partly why I wanted to meet with you. After our pleasant conversations, I can confidently state that our home is always open to you. If I can, I will make such a situation permanent."

Harry beamed, looking to Draco to see a matching smile of his own. That would be…amazing.

Harry laughed, collecting the books and re-shrunken trunk into his arms, "And I would thank you every day for such a situation. Bye, Draco. Thank you so much for inviting me."

Draco got up to shake Harry's hand. "Anytime, Harry. You had better continuing to write, though."

"Without a doubt," Harry replied.

The goodbyes were brief but warm between him and Mrs. Malfoy. Harry shook Draco's hand once again – Draco seemed to enjoy that, for some reason – before Mr. Malfoy introduced him to a new way of travel – apparition.

"Christ," Harry gasped. His bloody ears had popped!

"It gets better, if it makes you feel better," Mr. Malfoy said, removing his hand from Harry's shoulder. The man surveyed the orphanage with a sneer in place. "This place is revolting. You deserve much better."

Harry ducked his head in embarrassment. He didn't _like_ being here. "The kids know not to mess with me. I made that clear a long time ago."

Mr. Malfoy laughed softly, patting Harry on the shoulder, "Very good, Mr. Potter; show the muggles their place."

"Under me," Harry supplied. "By the way – call me Harry."

"I suppose I can offer you the same courtesy, Harry," Lucius said with a smirk. He reached out his right hand.

"Until next time."

Harry grinned.

"Hopefully soon. Thanks again, Lucius."

"Of course."

* * *

Lucius returned to the Manor moments later, deciding to make sure Harry made it back inside the orphanage. Draco was waiting for him, clearly expectant.

"Well?" Draco asked.

Lucius did not respond at first, instead walking up and placing his hands on Draco's shoulders.

"I am so very proud of you, my son," Lucius said, looking into Draco's eyes as his son beamed from the praise. "Keep Harry near you at Hogwarts and help him however you can. He will need it. His fame will not go away, especially with his aspirations."

Draco nodded determinedly. "Can we convert him to our side?"

"Draco," Lucius playfully scolded. "You heard the boy's answers; he is already on our side."

* * *

**The story will almost exclusively follow Harry, but I thought that little scene between Lucius and Draco was a nice touch. You must realize what the conversations were like between the two before inviting Harry over, right? Lucius is _very_ pleasantly surprised with Harry's opinions.**

**I'm glad I was able to get this chapter done tonight. With exams starting in...6 hours - crap, by the way - I don't know when I would have had the time to finish this chapter otherwise. I haven't really read through it so let me know if there are any mistakes. **

**The next chapter will be Kings Cross/the train ride/et cetera. **

**Review. Please? I really, truly appreciate feedback, whether good or bad. I plan to write for a career - not fiction, but as a journalist - so feedback is necessary for me.**

**Goin' to bed. Catch you later.**

**Brigade.**


	6. I'm on a Train!

**I'm actually a bit embarrassed that it took this long to finish the chapter. I got stuck on one part that took me three days until I was satisfied with it. Anyway, it's 4 a.m. and I'm tired. I have not proofread this chapter so let me know if something is wrong. Enjoy. **

* * *

Harry closed the lid of his new trunk gently. Today was the last day he would be in the orphanage for an entire year. Harry had woken even earlier than normal from sheer the excitement of it. Well, that and the ability to practice magic; magic was pretty exciting as well.

Harry turned around at the knock on his door. The other boys were somewhere else in the orphanage and up until this point, Harry had been enjoying his morning.

"All set, then?" Ms. Reed asked sullenly, folding her arms across her torso.

Harry nodded, returning his attention to his trunk. Frankly, he did this only so he would not have to look at her.

"Where is it you need to go again, boy?"

"King's Cross station," Harry murmured, reaching for his pillow to retrieve a book.

"And where is this school of yours?"

Harry turned around to the aging woman to shrug. It was not any of her business.

The woman scoffed at him. "You had better learn some words, boy. You'll need them for whatever school would have you."

Harry shook his head, sneering before checking for any items he missed in packing. She was not worth more than a few words anyway.

"Here's some bus fare. You'd best be off, then."

Ms. Reed placed some notes onto his dresser before leaving the room.

Harry resisted the urge to hit something. He really hated that woman. She did not care about any of the children. Harry felt the same, but only because he had actually _tried_ at one point to be friendly. This woman, however, was mean only because she could not be bothered to be nice.

Of course, the children were not any better. Harry smiled as he thought back to the Malfoy's offer. Their home was always open to him and they were searching for a way to gain custody of him. Harry caressed the spine of the book he was holding, one of the books Lucius had provided him.

Harry had browsed the expositions of each of the books the night he had returned from Malfoy Manor. From there, he decided to read _Magic and its Effects on the Body_ first. Harry was almost finished reading the book and it was fascinating.

According to the book, most spells cast at the body were meant to either harm, heal, or alter. These spells differentiated in their wand movements and incantations. The wand movements were based on runic designs of original magical civilizations. Modern incantations were in a hybrid form of Latin for universal use.

Harry understood the real difference, however; it was the same one that he had discovered five years ago. Intent. The book had even stated so. Wand movements mimicking runes depicted a physical representation of intention. Words gave a verbal assurance of intention. A witch or wizard's thoughts gave a mental connection of their intention.

The book, at the part Harry was currently scouring, gave examples of wand movements and the runes they expressed. Spells rarely used the same movements, though they were similar at times.

'_I'm going to have to thank the Malfoys again for this,_' Harry sighed.

Draco had written to him the morning before, expressing his own eager excitement for school to start. He also gave Harry the time when the Malfoys would arrive. Beyond that, the boy had rattled on in an un-Dracolike way about classes, the sorting, and his and Harry's spot at Hogwarts.

His friend wanted to be important. Harry found himself wanting that too. Draco was absolutely assured that both he and Harry would find themselves in Slytherin. Harry found that funny, but was open-minded. He wanted to go where he would not only fit, but excel.

Harry set the book reverently inside his trunk before shutting the lid once more, securing the latch this time. It was 8 o'clock and time to leave. Snatching the notes off the dresser and throwing on his hooded jacket, Harry descended the stairs and left through the front door.

At the street, Harry set down his trunk to look back at the orphanage. He had suffered so much here, learning to hate at a level most people could not even imagine. Harry was aware of this and it scared him at times. He did not want to lose himself to hate – that was how the Ms. Reeds of the world, as worthless as she was, were.

'_I won't have to see this place for an entire year. And hopefully I will never have to see it again,'_ Harry sighed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. _'If I ever come back, I may just kill everyone here.'_

He picked up his trunk once more, smiling slightly at the feel of rich leather against his fingertips.

'_Draco, you'd better come through for me, mate.'_

* * *

King's Cross was loud and busy, even at 9 in the morning. Harry's train was not scheduled to leave until 11, but honestly Harry just wanted to get away from the orphanage. Most people were pushing trolleys around but Harry simply carried his trunk by its handle. It was lighter than is should be, leaving Harry to guess that there was more magic on the trunk besides the expanded interior.

The barrier to Platform 9 ¾ was easy to spot based on Professor McGonagall's instructions. Going through was even easier, though it provided Harry with one of the biggest thrills of his life.

The steaming engine in front of him was a gleaming scarlet. Gold letters spelled out "Hogwarts Express" along the side of the engine. Harry smiled; to date, this was his third time in the wizarding world and it was as special as when he had first learned about magic. Speaking of magic, he had a book to finish…

A book that would have to wait, it seemed.

"Excuse me," Harry heard from above him. "But you're Harry Potter, right?"

Harry looked up. He had gotten through a couple of pages and already someone was interrupting him? In front of him was a reedy looking teenager with brown hair and glasses.

"Yeah, that's me," Harry affirmed, carefully closing his book. "What can I do for you?"

"Will you sign this?" The boy stuffed a quill and piece of parchment in front of Harry's nose. Harry quirked an eyebrow but silently signed the parchment, holding it out to the boy when he was done.

The boy snatched it away with a quick thanks before running down the station, shouting, "Oi! Williams! I told you it was him! Harry Potter gave me his autograph!"

'_Oh shit_,' Harry thought, ducking his head as stares suddenly were focused on him. '_That damn kid is going to get it_.'

In a matter of moments, a crowd surrounded his bench. _'I guess I'm not going to finish this book any time soon_,' Harry thought with a sigh, plastering a false smile on his face.

A cry of "Hey, Harry!" broke through the crowd. Harry looked to his right to see Cedric Diggory running over to greet him.

"I've gotta go, guys. I'm sorry," Harry said, ignoring the protesting cries around him. For the last half hour, he had dutifully answered questions, signed autographs, and patted little brats on the head just for show. After that, he could not give a damn about the rest of them.

Picking up his trunk and book, Harry broke through the crowd to greet a beaming Cedric.

"Cedric! What's new, mate?" Harry asked.

"Not much," Cedric said, peeking over Harry's head at the dispersing crowd. "How long have you been here?"

Harry shrugged, looking at the large clock near him.

"It's been about an hour," Harry said. "I was too excited to sit around waiting. However, I didn't realize people would swarm me just for going to bloody school."

Cedric nodded, laughing. "And you got stuck playing Boy-Who-Lived, huh?"

"Boy-Who-Lived?" Harry asked, revolted. "Please tell me that I'm not actually called that."

"I could say that, but I'd be lying," Cedric chuckled. "But you played nice with the crowd, right?"

"Of course," Harry laughed. "What else would I do?"

Cedric shrugged, looking back over his shoulder. "I was saying goodbye to my parents but I saw that you needed some help. Would you like to meet them?"

"Sure," Harry agreed. "I'm guessing that's them over there?"

Harry spotted a couple behind Cedric standing a ways away on the platform looking back at them.

"Yep," replied Cedric. "C'mon, my dad works at the Ministry. My mum stays at home, so she might be a bit tearful."

"Fun," Harry murmured as the pair approached the couple. Cedric's father had a ruddy face and brown hair falling to his shoulders and a scrubby beard to match. Mrs. Diggory was tall and handsome; Cedric seemed to get most of his looks from her, from the wavy brown hair to the grey eyes.

"Ced, who's your friend?" Mr. Diggory asked.

"This is Harry, dad. Erm –"

"Harry Potter," Harry finished for Cedric, privately touched that Cedric was trying to prevent even more gawking.

"Bless my soul," Mr. Diggory breathed with wide eyes as his wife grabbed his arm. "Amos Diggory, Mr. Potter. This is my wife, Ashley."

"Nice to meet you," Harry said, grimacing slightly after yet another handshake.

"So you've met my boy Cedric, huh?" Amos said gruffly. "Not a better kid at Hogwarts, I'd wager."

"Dad, c'mon," Cedric muttered, rubbing the back of his head.

"Nonsense, Ced. It's obvious to anyone that you are the cream of the crop. No need to be modest when you can back it up."

"Yeah, but dad," Cedric argued. "It was just one year."

"One year of all O's and earning the starting seeker spot on your House team," Amos announced proudly, patting Cedric on the back. "You'd do well to follow my boy's footsteps, Mr. Potter; not a brighter kid you'll find."

"I'm sure," Harry said amusedly, enjoying Cedric's embarrassment.

"Now sweetie, you have everything you'll need, right?" Mrs. Diggory asked.

"Yes, Mum," Cedric said with a sigh, quirking a smile in Harry's direction. "Perhaps this wasn't the best idea."

Harry snickered in response.

"Ah – there you are, Harry."

Harry turned at that voice, one he knew well. Behind him, the Malfoys approached, Lucius majestically leading the way with his cane.

"Hey, Harry," Draco smiled. Draco was pushing a trolley with a richly crafted black trunk attached. On top of it sat two cages: one containing Draco's eagle owl, the other housing a white owl.

"Hello Mr. Malfoy," Harry said to the tall man before him.

Lucius reached out to tap Harry on the shoulder with his cane. "I recall saying that you may make use my first name, Harry."

"Of course, Lucius," Harry smiled. "How have you all been?"

"Marvelously," Mrs. Malfoy said pleasantly. "Amos, Ashley: lovely seeing you two again."

"Mrs. Malfoy," Mr. Diggory greeted cautiously.

"And this is your son, I presume?" Lucius asked silkily, his gaze locking on Cedric.

"Cedric, sir. Pleased to meet you," Cedric said, raising his hand in a wave.

"Indeed," Lucius replied, his upper lip curling slightly at the corner as he focused on the boy. After a moment, Lucius refocused on Harry.

"Harry – Narcissa and I have gotten Draco a going away gift; we felt that you deserved one as well."

"Oh no, sir; you didn't have to do – "

"But I did anyway," Lucius interrupted, bringing his arm up to gesture lazily at the trolley. "The snowy owl is yours."

Harry would have protested, but he was speechless. They had gotten him a pet? How _cool_ was that?

"Oh wow…thanks," Harry breathed, approaching the trolley to see his new pet. "What's its name?"

"She has not been named yet," Lucius drawled. "We decided that that honor should fall to you."

Harry offered his hand to the owl who eyed him neutrally. After scratching the back of its neck, however, the owl hooted softly.

"Anyway," Cedric said, breaking the silence. "I need to get on the train. Mum, Dad, I'll write to you tomorrow."

"Bye, sweetie," Mrs. Diggory said tearfully. "You study hard, ok?"

"Of course," Cedric smiled. "You coming, Harry?"

"In a minute, Cedric," said Harry, still stroking his new pet. "I need to talk to the Malfoys. I'll catch up to you later."

"Alright. I'll talk to you later, then." With a cheery wave, Cedric took his things to the train, his parents in tow.

"I'll work on getting you a name soon, alright?" The owl hooted back in reply. Satisfied, Harry turned around to face the Malfoys.

"The books are brilliant," Harry admitted, holding up the book in his hand. "I've been reading one of the ones on theory to start just because, well, that seemed the place to start."

"I am pleased they are of aid to you, Harry," Lucius said, inspecting the head of his cane. "Do you have any questions regarding what you've read?"

"Not really – at least not yet," Harry replied. "A lot of the things in the book I've been reading I had already assumed."

"Really, now?" Lucius drawled, his eyes moving from his wife and son to Harry swiftly. "And just what have you…assumed?"

"That magic is really based on two things," Harry said, ticking them off on his fingers. "Intention and how much magic you have to use. There's got to be more to it, but that's what seems to matter most – at least to me."

"Not bad at all," Lucius praised softly. "However, you will find that channeling that intention is a challenge."

"We need to get going, Harry," Draco interrupted. "The train is leaving in five minutes. I've had some friends reserve a compartment for us."

"Okay. I guess we'd better go," Harry said, trying to mask his excitement.

"One more thing, Harry," Lucius drawled, a smile working its way onto his face. "I am still working on a solution for your…poor housing arrangements. I should have the situation corrected soon."

Harry grinned in return. "Good. Though honestly, I'm not going back there no matter what. I don't think I'd be able to stand it."

"Let's go, Harry," Draco urged, pulling at the other boy's sleeve.

"Alright," Harry said, picking up his trunk again. "I guess I'll talk to you later."

Lucius nodded in Harry's direction. "Until then, Harry. Draco, you know what I expect from you."

Draco shook his head. "Of course, father. Mother, I will write soon."

"I know you will, Draco," Mrs. Malfoy said fondly. "Goodbye, Harry. We hope to see you over the winter break."

Harry smiled. "I'd like that. C'mon, Draco; let' go."

The two young wizards carried their things nearer to the train, its smoke drifting over the heads of those chatting on the platform. Draco led the way to a compartment near the front of the train and Harry followed, sidestepping a particularly moody cat.

"Right here, Harry," Draco called over his shoulder, stepping up onto the train. Harry hefted his trunk onto his shoulder and made his way up the set of stairs.

"Where are we going to put these?" Harry asked, setting his trunk down with a dull thud and panting from the effort.

Draco walked down the narrow hallway a couple of feet before motioning with his head. Harry allowed himself a small sigh before picking his trunk up again.

"There you are, Draco," a feminine voice sniffed as Harry entered the compartment. "I was worried you would not make it in time."

"I'm always on time," Draco said superiorly. "Harry, make yourself at home."

Harry nodded from the doorway, setting his trunk on the rack above an empty seat. Once he settled into his seat, Harry noticed the stares.

'_Ah, here we go again_," Harry thought sardonically. "Hi, I'm Harry Potter. Nice to meet you all."

"Potter?" The pug-faced girl at the end of his bench echoed. The turned quickly to Draco sitting beside her. "Draco, what is _Potter_ doing here of all people?"

"Like I said," Harry muttered. "Nice to meet you."

"I'm not talking to you, half-blood," the girl sneered, amusing Harry.

"He's here because I said so," Draco said smugly. "Harry, this is Pansy Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise Zabini."

Harry nodded to each in turn with the exception of the girl, Pansy. Crabbe was burly and dim-looking – so was Goyle, to be honest, if a little taller – and Zabini, the dark skinned boy, reached out to shake his hand, which Harry gladly returned.

"I believe Pansy and I have met," Harry smirked. "But like I said, it is nice to meet you all."

Zabini smiled thinly. "Although Parkinson expressed it poorly, she did have a good question; what _are_ you doing here, Potter?"

"Oh, just going to school," Harry grinned. "I met Draco a while back and we've been writing since. I presume that's what you mean, right?"

Zabini nodded. "And you feel…comfortable here?"

Harry shrugged. "Why shouldn't I?"

That seemed to be enough for Blaise Zabini as the boy turned back to the book in his lap. Pansy, however, was not finished.

"Where have you been, Potter?" She sneered. "Too good to go out in public?"

Harry stared at the girl. She was moody and clinging to Draco's arm like he was a buoy. "I've been places, Parkinson. Places that aren't any of your business."

"Make him leave, Draco!" Parkinson cried, a pleading note to her voice that was music to Harry's ears.

"Aww," Harry mocked her. "Sick of me already?"

She snarled in return, scrunching up her already scrunched face. "Shut it, Potter! You do not belong here!"

"And why should I care what you say?" Harry smirked.

"Enough, Pansy," Draco said. "Harry is not going anywhere."

Harry grinned. "Thanks for your _permission_, Draco."

Draco rolled his eyes in return.

The train finally left the station, allowing Draco and Harry to let their owls fly to Hogwarts. Really, a train was not a place to keep an owl. Parkinson had sulked in her seat so far, giving Harry a smug sense of satisfaction. The girl was bloody annoying, in Harry's opinion. She kept trying to distract Draco with pouty looks and impatient sighs.

Crabbe and Goyle, it seemed, rarely talked. So far, they had only grunted or nodded. Draco had whispered to him early on that neither boy was that bright; in fact, they had started hanging around him because he was always at parties. Harry found himself simply ignoring their existence.

Zabini was fairly sharp, if a bit arrogant. However, he could not completely disagree with a kid who read as a hobby.

"Say, Draco," Harry said, breaking the silence of the compartment. "Are we allowed to do magic on the train?"

Draco shrugged. "I would assume so. Why shouldn't we?"

"Oh please," Parkinson scoffed. "As if that half-blood could do anything."

Harry felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. The girl was going to make him angry if she was not careful.

"Don't underestimate him, Pansy," Draco grinned.

"I'm used to it," Harry murmured, fishing his Charms book and an old shoe out of his trunk. "Let her think what she wants. I'll prove her wrong like always."

Parkinson sneered, crossing her arms across her chest. "Let's see some magic then, Potter. Go on, magic must be a breeze for the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry was about to retort before the compartment door slid open. A stout boy stood in the doorway with a girl by his side. The boy was sniffling at the floor and the bushy-haired witch stood with her hands on her hips. She was already wearing her Hogwarts robes.

"Have any of you seen a toad?" The witch said, the bossy tone of her voice making Harry grimace. "Neville here has lost one."

The girl spotted Harry holding his wand. "Oh, you're doing magic, then? Let's see. I've tried a few spells on my own for practice but I have not seen another wizard casting."

The witch squeezed herself into the seat opposite him, staring at him expectantly. Zabini, a victim of the girl's actions, stared at her incredulously.

Harry nodded back at the girl. "I just got the book out to try some things. I did not really have anything in mind yet."

Harry flipped to the opening chapter. The Levitation Charm seemed easy enough. The book described a swishing motion followed by a flick at the target item.

Harry tossed the shoe onto the floor, taking a deep breath.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_."

Harry hid a grin. He could feel the magic working, travelling down his arm and leaving through his wand. It was so much more powerful than how he normally did magic. The shoe immediately rose off the floor.

"Nice one, Harry," Draco smiled. Harry nodded back, grinning more at Parkinson's shocked expression than Draco's praise.

"Well done," the bushy-haired girl said. "Of course, I've tried several more that have worked for me. No one else in my family has magic so it was such a surprise when I got my letter. I've learned all my books by heart, of course; I just hope that it is enough – I am Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

She spoke faster than Harry could process which was quite a feat.

"Er – I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

"Are you really?" The girl – Hermione – said skeptically. "Well, I've read all about you, of course. You are in several books, if you were not aware."

"I wasn't, but that figures," Harry said sardonically.

"So you're a muggleborn?" Parkinson sneered. "We don't want your kind here. Get out. And take Potter with you while you're at it."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose while Hermione looked insulted.

"We are here to find Neville's toad – "

"Yes and it's not here," Draco said with exasperation. "So if you'd please leave."

Hermione swiveled on Draco. "You could be more helpful than that and help us look. I cannot believe how unreasonable you all are being."

"We could, but we aren't," Harry said. Hermione turned angry eyes onto him. "It isn't my problem. I've cooperated, but I'm not changing my plans to practice just because some sniveling kid lost his toad."

Harry turned to the boy – Neville – in the doorway. "You need to grow up and fast," Harry said. "It is just a damn toad. That is nothing to cry about. They'll eat you alive at this school if you don't get it together."

"Yeah, you blood traitor, get out of here," Parkinson chimed in, laughing mockingly.

"I'm not insulting you like she is so make sure you understand," Harry said, sending a glare down to the girl at the end of the bench. "I'm just telling you like it is; either grow up and be somebody or cower like a little kid. The choice should be obvious. Now, please leave. I have some studying to do."

Neville looked at him tearfully before shaking his head and leaving the compartment. Hermione glared at him before leaving the compartment in a huff.

Harry shrugged, not perturbed at all. He spoke the truth. He was not trying to insult the kid, but seriously, grow up. What kind of pet was a toad, anyway?

Draco seemed to approve of what he did, as well as Zabini. In truth, he was not cut out for lying just to save someone's feelings. At least he was not part of the problem. With that, Harry went back to his Charms textbook.

The charms in the book, it seemed, Harry could already do. The inhabitants of the compartment were watching Harry in a stunned silence. Finally, as was usually the case, Draco broke the silence.

"How are you doing this, Harry? I know that you've never tried any of this before."

Harry grinned at his stupefied friend. "It's like I told your father. You've got to mean what you're casting. I read all the wand movements and stuff and I'm doing them, but I'm focusing more on making it work, y'know?"

"No, I don't," Draco incredulously replied as Harry made his ragged shoe change colors. Harry shook his head amusedly but continued on to the next charm.

The trolley lady provided the next interruption. Draco paid for several sweets, tossing a few Harry's way. The most entertaining, however, were definitely the Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"You never know what flavor you'll get," Draco informed him. "And by every flavor, they mean it. Not quite a treat that can be considered a favorite, but it is certainly good for a laugh."

And the compartment had laughed when Goyle ate a fingernail-flavored bean. The worst Harry had gotten was broccoli. That was, until, an all-white bean was tossed into his hand.

"Eat that one," Draco urged. "If Crabbe won't eat it, I doubt anyone but you would either."

Harry rolled his eyes but popped the bean into his mouth. The taste was bitter and a bit salty, nothing he had ever tasted before. He shrugged in reply and turned his attention to Zabini who was holding a brown and yellow striped bean.

Before long, Parkinson went over to the compartment across the hall so they could all change into their school robes. The sky darkened and the conductor announced that the train was five minutes away from Hogwarts. All in all, Harry was ready to see the school; it would be his home for the next year or so, after all. Draco had mentioned earlier that Hogwarts was on par with his Manor. If that was true, the school would suit him just fine.

The students were instructed to leave their luggage on board. Harry and Draco hopped down off the train onto the platform. The rest of the students were in chaos; they were shoving through the crowd on the tiny platform to get wherever they wanted to go. A large lantern held by an even larger man drew Harry's attention.

"Firs' years! Firs' years, this way!"

Harry turned to see if Draco was staring at the man as well. He was, which made Harry feel a bit better. The man holding the lantern had to be ten feet tall and as large around as three normal-sized men. Curly masses of black hair guarded the man's face, leaving only two, large, beetle-black eyes staring out at the crowd.

"Any more firs' years? C'mon now, follow me – watch yer step there."

Harry let himself be led down a steep path. No one seemed to want to talk much. Harry smirked at Draco as the blond stumbled over a rock. Draco glared back at him but said nothing. A sniffle or two could be heard behind them – that Neville boy, no doubt.

"Hogwarts is jus' round the corner, here," the large man boomed from up front. Ooh's and Ahh's sounded from the group around him. The path had led to the edge of a lake littered with small boats. The thing grabbing Harry's attention, however, was the large castle resting on an even larger hill on the other side of the lake.

_'Not bad at all_,' Harry thought, a grin forming on his face.

The castle was brilliant. It was large with many towers that were all lit up, giving it a cozy appearance.

"Four to a boat," The man with the lantern said. "No more'n that, please."

Harry scrambled into a boat with Draco. Zabini joined them as well as a reedy looking boy with sandy hair.

"Off we go, then!"

The boats began to magically glide across the lake, making Harry smile once more. Everyone was silent, taking in everything around them. Harry was brimming with excitement. The lake was peaceful, stars shone brightly overhead, and the castle that would be his home was brilliant. Draco must have caught his goofy smile because the other boy started to snicker.

"Hey, let me enjoy this; make fun of me later," Harry said amusedly. Draco nodded, still stifling his laughter.

The boats finally reached a small harbor after gliding through an ivy-covered tunnel. The first years were led up a cobblestone path up to the front doors of the school

"Everyone here, then?" The large man asked. Harry looked around, briefly imagining a kid stuck out in the middle of the lake. The man knocked loudly on the door three times.

It swung open as soon as the third knock had landed. Standing there was Professor McGonagall. Harry grinned widely at her. The corner of her lips twitched, but she did not look directly at him.

"The firs' years for yeh, Professor McGonagall," The large man said.

"Thank you, Hagrid," Professor McGonagall replied, flicking her wand to open the doors wide. The entrance hall was ridiculously large. Torches lined the walls and the ceiling was too high to even see clearly. A white marble staircase stood opposite them, leading to higher floors.

Professor McGonagall ushered in the students, leading them to an empty chamber off the hall. Another pair of high double doors sat in front of them. Professor McGonagall turned, motioning for silence even though no one was making a sound.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses."

"Slytherin," Draco interjected from Harry's right, causing him to shake his head amusedly.

"The Sorting is a very important ceremony," continued Professor McGonagall. "Because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours."

Professor McGonagall took a deep breath. She had spoken as if from a textbook.

"The Sorting ceremony will take place in front of the entire school so I would recommend smartening yourselves in the meantime. I will be back when we are ready for you. In the meantime, please wait quietly."

As soon as she shut the doors to the Main Hall behind her, the small crowd broke out into frantic whispers. Harry looked around, at peace with the situation.

"You don't plan on tidying your hair, Harry?" Draco teased. The blond had produced a comb from his pocket. "You've seen one of these before, correct?"

Harry ruffled his hair, messing it up further. "Of course I have. My hair has broken many of those in the past."

That was true; his hair _had_ broken several combs in the past.

"I don't doubt that," Draco winced. "Please fix that a bit before we go in."

Harry grinned and shook his head. "It's no use, Draco. Besides, why are you so concerned about my hair?"

Before the boy could retort, the doors swung open.

"We are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please form two lines, please."

Harry shuffled behind Draco. The reedy-looking boy from the boat ride stood in front of him. Professor McGonagall led them past the double doors and into the chamber.

'_Damn_,' Harry thought appreciatively. '_This place is amazing_.'

The Great Hall was vast with a high sky enchanted to look like a starry night. Four long tables lined the hall, coming to a stop before some steps that lead to a table perpendicular to the rest. It seemed that the teachers sat there. Thousands upon thousands of candles floated in the air above the tables, lighting the hall in a brilliant gold.

The lines came to a stop just before the stairs where a stool sat with a pointed wizard's hat on top. The hat was patched and frayed on one side and seemed to be caked with dirt. Its appearance did not really matter, however, when the thing could bloody _sing_.

"_Oh you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see, _

_I'll eat myself if you can find _

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can top them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you,_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave of heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a thinking cap!"_

The entire hall burst into applause. Harry reluctantly applauded as well. The hat was pretty cool but that "there's nothing hidden in your head the Sorting Hat can't see" bit might be a problem. Even more, he'd rather not try on a hat made for a grown man in front of an audience. Besides, that whole "It's Harry Potter!" thing was bound to happen again.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

A blond pigtailed girl stumbled up to the hat to try it on. Before long, a cry of "HUFFLEPUFF!" echoed through the hall, followed by polite cheers.

Harry tuned out most of the Sorting in favor of looking around. He saw Cedric waving at him from across the hall. Harry nodded in response before eyeing the teachers. Most were watching the students getting Sorted, but three were looking back at him. The most obvious was Albus Dumbledore. Harry felt a shiver go through him as the man nodded over the rims of his glasses, raising his goblet in a silent toast. This man was the most powerful in all of Britain and he was toasting _him_?

'_Maybe getting private lessons from him won't be that hard_,' Harry mused. His eyes sought out the black haired wizard to the left of the Headmaster.

'_That must be Snape_,' Harry thought. The man fit Draco's description of "black hair, pale skin and a crooked nose" to a tee.

Beside Snape was a man wearing a turban. The man was holding his goblet shakily, looking at Harry with wide eyes. Suddenly, Harry felt a sharp pain in his forehead.

Harry hissed, refraining at the last moment from clamping a hand to his head.

"What is it?" Draco whispered. Harry shook his head.

"I'll talk about it later."

"Malfoy, Draco!"

Draco left the line to get Sorted, leaving Harry to dwell with unstable emotions. How did his scar hurt? The last time that had happened was in Gringotts. Was this man the thief?

"SLYTHERIN!"

Harry applauded the boy as Draco walked over to the table near the wall. Really, he should not be left with his thoughts. As much as he wanted to meet the man who stole from Gringotts again, this was not exactly the time he had in mind.

And what was with his scar, anyway? The thing would not heal and was now hurting at random times. Was it getting worse?

"Potter, Harry!"

"Harry Potter?"

"Blimey, Harry Potter's here?"

"I got an autograph from him earlier!"

Harry ducked his head to hide his scowl before walking up to the stool. The buzz that surrounded him silenced as soon as he sat down. The hat was placed on his head, covering his eyes.

'_So, let's have a look, shall we?'_

* * *

**So there you go. Everyone seems to be so set on Harry obviously being a Slytherin. Well...maybe. **

**Also, I am an avid fanfiction reader as well so let me know if you stumble upon something good. I usually stick just to Harry Potter. If the story is poorly written, I'm out. Originality is a big plus in my book as is, you know, proper spelling and grammar. I'm not too demanding, am I?**

**I appreciate the love this story has gotten so far, especially with nothing truly exciting happening yet. The things I have in store for you guys...**

**Review if you like it, love it, hate it, or have feedback for me. I have thick skin - I just like knowing someone out there is reading.**

**Goodnight - and if the world ends today, it's been fun.**

**Brigade**


	7. The Darkness Stirs

**Erm...Hi?**

**Sorry this took so long. I remember reading a review asking for an update for Christmas. I got about 2k words done and then hit a proverbial brick wall. I was not satisfied with the chapter so I rewrote most of it. Also, my fraternity had its initiation week for new members this past week and my new job with the student newspaper began...**

**Right. How about I stop making excuses and just let you read the damn chapter, okay? Okay**

**Review, if you think the story is worth it. Seriously. Knowing someone took time out of their day to write me back means the world to me. **

* * *

Harry had seen several of his classmates flinch as the hat was put upon their head. Now he knew why.

'_Hi, hat_,' Harry thought awkwardly. How did one communicate with a bloody talking hat without speaking, anyway?

'_Just as you did_,' was the drawling reply from the hat. '_To the duty at hand, however. An enormous amount of talent you have here – and believe you me, I do not state that as often as I would like. Talent…oh my yes, that will not be a problem_.'

Harry knew he was grinning so he ducked his head.

'_Thanks_,' Harry thought.

'_No need to thank me_,' the Sorting Hat replied. '_I am only stating what I see. There is also much more pain in your past than is common for a boy your age. An orphanage…most children I sort from orphanages tend to not be the happiest bunch. Yes, not many pleasant memories here_.'

'_Spot on so far, hat_,' Harry mentally grunted. '_What else_?'

'_Of course, your motivation is…unparalleled. But how should I sort you?_

'_Hufflepuff is out of the question, I think. You are more driven than anyone in that house – you'd scare them, quite frankly_.'

'_Wouldn't want that,_' Harry mentally snickered. '_Though Cedric hasn't been scared of me_.'

'_Only a matter of time_,' the Sorting Hat said with amusement. '_Gryffindor…no. With your past, you are simply incompatible with Gryffindor though you hold many of Godric's favored traits. It's all about the current crowd, you know. And again, I think you'd scare the current Gryffindor's as well._'

'_I'm a scary guy then_,' Harry thought distractedly. '_Say, isn't this taking a bit long_?'

'_Longest so far today_,' the hat affirmed. '_You're interesting so I'll take my time, thank you_.'

Harry laughed audibly at that, making the first few rows of people start to whisper.

'_Ravenclaw is a possibility_,' the hat spoke suddenly. '_Your intelligence would rival any in the house. My only concern is that Ravenclaw would not provide enough…depth for you_.'

'_What exactly do you mean by d-'_

'_Take my word for it, Harry Potter_.'

'_Alright then_.'

The hat gave a mental snort. '_Slytherin…another possibility. Salazar would value your bravery and drive to succeed. Slytherin would definitely help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that_.'

'_Sounds like a no-brainer to me, then_,' Harry thought.

'_Slytherin's a tough road for any wizard_,' the hat admitted. '_Purebloods are a majority there and they play by their own rules. Can you handle it?_'

'_Of course_,' Harry thought indignantly. '_I can deal with whatever I need to_.'

'_It sounds then as though you would like to join the Slytherins, Mr. Potter_,' the hat said dryly.

'_I want to go where I'll fit best, where I'll learn the most_,' Harry thought firmly. '_If that's Slytherin, then I'll go to Slytherin_.'

'_Expectations for you would have you elsewhere_,' the Sorting Hat spoke amusedly. '_But no matter. I've made my decision; before I announce my verdict, however…welcome both to the Wizarding World and to Hogwarts, Harry Potter. SLYTHERIN will be glad to have you.'_

The Sorting Hat was plucked from his head and Harry blinked at the light. Rising, Harry steered himself to the Slytherin table where Draco was grinning like a buffoon. Harry was only vaguely aware of the applause he was receiving. It was loud, though he could see the disappointed faces. It seemed as if students from every house had wanted him.

"Welcome, Harry," Draco said delightedly, scooting over to preserve Harry a spot next to him.

Harry rolled his eyes at the boy's exuberance, but nodded anyway. "Thanks, Draco."

Harry carefully stepped over the bench to sit down; getting used to robes would be a bit of a challenge. Draco was still beaming at him, causing Harry's lips to quirk. Harry, however, was looking toward the head table. The Sorting Hat had distracted him, but he could not forget the pain he had felt when he looked at the man with the turban. Harry's brow creased; the man in the turban was no longer looking at him.

Professor Snape was though. The potions professor seemed puzzled, but at least he was not openly hostile. Still, the constant attention was unsettling.

"Are you alright, Harry? What was the problem earlier?" Draco muttered softly. At least he had the sense to be quiet about it.

"I'm fine," Harry murmured breaking eye contact with the potions professor. "And now's not the time, okay?"

"So you're Harry Potter, eh?" Harry's eyes fixed on a thin boy from across the table. Harry recalled seeing him on one of the boats earlier. The boy had brown hair reaching down gracefully to his eyebrows and bright blue eyes.

"Theodore Nott," the boy introduced, sticking out his right hand. Harry shook it but said nothing else.

"Ew – Theo, you don't want to touch the halfblood. You might catch something," Parkinson sneered from down the table, her arms crossed. Harry found himself rolling his eyes again as Nott smirked.

"It's not his choice to be a halfblood, is it?" Nott questioned, his eyes shifting to Harry. "If Potter's smart enough to hang around Draco, he's worth something, at least."

"Thanks," Harry said sardonically.

"It doesn't change what he is," Parkinson interjected with a baleful glare at Harry.

"Nor does it change what you are, Pansy," Draco sighed. "Annoying."

"Draco!" Parkinson gasped as Nott snickered.

Harry ignored Parkinson in favor of surveying the table. Crabbe and Goyle were seated down the table next to a burly looking girl scowling at an empty plate. Across from her sat a girl who appeared much more pleasant, speaking softly to one of the older students.

"So how's your father, Theodore?" Draco said wearily, ignoring Parkinson's tantrum.

"As well as I could hope," the boy replied. "Father's been a bit demanding lately but what else is new?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at Nott's words but said nothing. He knew nothing about the boy to comment on, anyway.

"My father's fairly old," Theo said, as if reading Harry's thoughts. "And damn strict. Has a certain way he wants everything done - a way that I just have trouble with sometimes."

Harry nodded. He could relate to that, even though he had no parents. The orphanage had rules that made no sense. For that reason, Harry ignored them.

"So how many of the Slytherins do you know, Potter?"

Harry grinned at Nott. At least the boy was nice enough. "I met Draco this past summer. Other than that, I shared a compartment with Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson – "

"Pity," Nott smirked, causing the girl to huff. Harry snickered in return.

"Zabini, Blaise!"

"And him," Harry gestured to the dark skinned boy sitting down on the stool.

Nott nodded as Draco fidgeted to Harry's right.

"Zabini needs to get in Slytherin already; I'm hungry," Draco muttered.

"SLYTHERIN!"

"There you go," Harry said amusedly as he glanced up at the Head Table. The wizard in the turban was clapping shakily for Zabini, but his eyes found Harry's once more. There was no pain this time.

The Headmaster stood to speak as McGonagall removed the stool and Sorting Hat from the hall. Albus Dumbledore was taller than Harry had imagined, and seemed to have a flair for the extravagant. The Headmaster was wearing robes with stars and moons decorating the cloth in a color that was causing Harry's eyes some stress. The wizard was beaming at the students, gesturing out to them with wide arms.

"To our new students, welcome!" He said. "And to the rest, welcome back! There are several start of term items that need to be addressed, but they can all wait; in the meantime, tuck in!"

Harry's eyebrows raised of their own volition as the table filled with food. His meal with the Malfoys had been the best of his life. But even that seemed to pale in comparison to Hogwarts.

He had never seen so many things that he wanted to eat all at one table before. Plates upon plates of food lined the wooden table. The aroma of potatoes and meats filled Harry's senses, drawing a smile from the boy.

"Steak or fish, Draco?" Harry grinned, looking over at the boy. Draco already had a plate full of food and a fork sticking out of his mouth.

Draco paused to swallow before saying simply, "Both."

Harry sighed in contentment as he set down his fork. Treacle tart was a delicacy that he had never had the opportunity to enjoy. That was, until now. The conversation around him was peaceful and the food was spectacular. Harry knew he was grinning like a loon, but there was nothing for it. Nott and Zabini had shaken hands as the food had appeared. It seemed that the two knew each other well. That was fine, in Harry's opinion; the two boys were _fun_. Between them and Draco's company, Harry had thoroughly enjoyed the dinner.

"Excuse me, Potter."

A hand landed gently on Harry's shoulder as he turned around. An older boy was leaning in to talk to him, a shiny badge on his chest.

"Professor Snape would like to have a word with you after the Headmaster's speech. I'll come get you and show you the way to his office once we are dismissed, alright?"

Harry nodded, ignoring Draco's look of puzzlement beside him. "Thanks."

"Not a problem," the boy said. With a final pat on his shoulder, the boy walked off back down the table.

"Huh," Harry said, turning around to look at the other boys. "I wonder what that's about."

"I do not know, Harry, but remember what I told you about my godfather; he can be a bit difficult at times," Draco muttered, a grimace crossing his face.

"Isn't it obvious?" Nott grinned. He rolled his eyes at the three shaking their heads. "Potter, you're a bloody celebrity. The professor is going to have to deal with a lot in return for your Sorting. Just think – he needs your cooperation. You receive fan mail, right?"

Harry shook his head again with wide eyes. God forsake him if he was receiving fan mail.

"Well, he'll need to know things like that," Nott laughed. "Especially in terms of his authority. If you won't follow him, after all, how can he get others to?"

Harry was saved from responding as the Headmaster stood once more.

"Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts! I have just a few items that need addressing…"

Harry split his attention from the Headmaster. Snape was looking at him once again. Harry nodded respectfully at the man. The professor nodded swiftly in return before returning his attention to his drink. Harry scoffed at the warnings about the man; he seemed decent enough. Harry let his eyes drift to Professor McGonagall. She was looking at him as well.

'_Might as well get a reaction out of her_,' Harry smirked inwardly. He offered the woman a cheery wave and grin, earning a small shake of her head and pursed lips in return.

" – I would also like to introduce our newest professor, Professor Quirrell. Professor Quirrell will be taking on the task of teaching Defense of the Dark Arts. Good luck, Professor!"

Sparse clapping met the man as he shakily stood and Harry's eyes narrowed. Why had his forehead hurt when the man had looked at him? There was more to Professor Quirrell than being just a quivering, nervous adult, at the very least.

"On a more serious note, I must inform you all that the third floor corridor is out of bounds to all students, including prefects. Not only that, but I must caution you further; any who travel through this corridor can expect to die a most painful death."

Gasps gave way to fierce whispers at that last statement. Harry found himself laughing; something that dangerous was being held in a _school_?

"I'll have to figure out what that is all about. Draco, you can come with me!" Harry chuckled.

Draco paled. "Are you kidding me, Potter? Why on earth would I follow – "

"And now there is only one thing left to address – the school song!" The Headmaster clapped his hands together with enthusiasm. "Up you get! Let's show a little school spirit before we tuck ourselves away for the night!"

"I think now would be a great time to leave."

The boy was back, grimacing at the Headmaster. "C'mon, Potter. Professor Snape is leaving as well."

And so he was. The professor has slipped stealthily away from the table and out a side door of the Hall, his robes rippling behind him.

"Alright, then." Harry nodded to the other boys. "I'll see you later, I guess."

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but closed it in favor of nodding back. Harry allowed the older boy to steer him away from the singing masses and out into the corridors.

"Much better," the taller boy sighed. "I was ready to get out of that hall."

Harry shrugged. "I'm not much of a singer, either. The rest was pretty excellent, though."

Harry studied the boy for a moment. The boy's black hair swept out of his face and minor traces of facial hair dusted his jaw. The boy's hazel eyes met his.

"Well then," said the boy. "I'm Felix Sykes, Potter. Welcome to Slytherin."

Harry shook the larger hand. "Thanks. Do you have any idea why Professor Snape wants to see me? I reckon I haven't had enough time to do anything wrong yet."

Sykes smirked.

"I have no idea," the boy admitted. "But I assume it's nothing bad. I will warn you that Professor Snape can be fairly vicious when he wants to be."

"I keep hearing that," Harry grinned. "He can't be that bad, can he? I mean, the man is a teacher, after all. If he's so mean, how does he teach?"

Sykes shook his head. "Mean is not the right word for him. Professor Snape is very demanding. He's an acclaimed Potions Master; with that title, he has a right to be a bit demanding, doesn't he?

"Luckily for us," Sykes continued. "He's our Head of House. He was in Slytherin while he was a student here. Professor Snape favors us a bit. He will let you know what he expects from you – as a matter of fact, that's probably why he wants to meet with you."

"Because I'm the Boy-Who-Lived," Harry muttered, snorting as the older boy grinned at him.

"Such a fancy title, Potter," the boy teased. "When do you plan on showing off your special powers?"

Harry shoved the boy in response, making Sykes laugh even harder.

Aside from that, the journey to Professor Snape's office was peaceful. Harry spent an inordinate amount of time looking around him. The halls were beautiful. Paintings hung on either side of the halls, containing people who waved and shouted greetings to the both of them. Harry was already fond of the school. The silence around him was slightly disconcerting, though. Growing up in the blasted orphanage, Harry was not used to quietness.

"Here we are, Potter," Sykes remarked. A sturdy wooden door stood in front of them. Harry looked to the boy. "Should I just enter or knock or what?"

"Knock," Sykes grinned. "Always knock with Professor Snape. The Potions classroom is right over there, by the way."

Sykes beckoned to a door down the dim hallway. Harry could make out the outline of a black door but little else.

"You'd better get in there," Sykes urged. "Professor Snape values punctuality." The older boy set off down the corridor, leaving Harry standing alone in front of the door.

'_Might as well get on with it_,' Harry sighed, knocking on the door.

"Enter."

The man's voice was deep and drawling, sending a shudder down Harry's spine. Harry exhaled slowly before pushing the door open.

Snape's office was dimly lit with glass jars taking up most of the wall space, filled with who knows what. Well, Snape probably knew. A wall clock hung on the wall behind a large, black desk. The desk was intimidating enough, but the man leaning on it with his arms crossed was even more so.

"Mr. Potter," The man began silkily, smoothly, sending another shudder down Harry's spine. "Pardon my posture. It is such an _honor_ to meet a celebrity, after all."

The man righted himself from the desk, his features morphing themselves into a slight sneer. Harry had no clue how to respond. The man was not acting overtly hostile, but the edge to his words was making Harry a bit nervous.

"Good evening, Professor," Harry said quietly. Perhaps the man was as easy to deter as the old orphanage matrons? They usually left him alone after a few soft-spoken words.

Professor Snape nodded back sharply, his eyes scrutinizing him with an unsettling intensity. "It will be a better one if you can assure me that you do not lack the drive I expect in my Slytherins. Where would you look to find a bezoar, Mr. Potter?"

Harry started. The man just wanted to _quiz_ him? "In a goat's stomach, Professor. They can cure most ingested poisons – except for ones that can negate a Bezoar's acidity."

The man nodded sharply once more, approaching Harry with silent steps. "You have enough sense to read beforehand – do not expect praise from me for meeting my expectations. I only praise those who exceed my expectations. Be forewarned; my expectations are very high."

"Yes sir," said Harry.

The man stared at him for a few seconds before gesturing to a chair. "Sit."

Harry moved past the man to sit in the offered chair. It was rather uncomfortable, but that was probably to be expected for a teacher's office.

Professor Snape glided past him to sit in the leather chair resting behind the black desk. "How do you take your tea, Mr. Potter?"

Harry raised his eyebrows but answered dutifully. "Two sugars, sir."

Professor Snape snapped long fingers and two cups of tea appeared on the table. Harry nodded his thanks and took a small sip. The liquid gave him a small respite from Snape's intense stare.

"My godson pleaded for me to play nice with you," Professor Snape said as Harry set down his cup. The man's black eyes crinkled as they narrowed. "Unfortunately, I do not play nice."

Harry stared at the man, waiting for him to continue.

"I loathed your father," Professor Snape admitted, a hint of a growl under his voice. "We were in the same year while we were students. No doubt you would like to hear pleasantries regarding your father. You would like to hear what a kind soul he was, yes?"

'_How on earth do I answer something like that_?' Harry thought wildly. He remained silent.

Professor Snape was leaning towards Harry, a sadistic gleam in his eye. Harry assumed the man was enjoying the opportunity to speak ill of his father.

"I have no fond memories of the man. He and his merry band of misfits were bullish, brutish, and the bane of my existence as an adolescent.

"And so let me warn you now, Mr. Potter, because I will not tolerate anything else; if you show even an ounce of the arrogance your father so proudly wore, your life here at Hogwarts will _not_ be pleasant."

The man's voice lowered into a harsh growl at the end, his teeth bared and eyes unforgiving. Harry nodded solemnly, uttering a soft "Yes, sir." What else was he to do?

"Draco has asked that I reserve judgment on you," Professor Snape continued. "And I shall do so. Prove yourself to me in class. I expect you to excel not only in my course, but in every course that you take during your seven years at Hogwarts – it is an expectation I hold for all of my Slytherins.

"I will speak with your yearmates in the morning before breakfast. There are some topics that I would like to breach with them before they start their careers here at Hogwarts. On the walls near each of the first year dorms, there is a map of the entire school that can be copied with the spell "_Duplicatus._" I will not allow Slytherins to wander around the school in search of their classes."

Harry eyed the man. Professor Snape had begun pacing at the beginning of his speech and stopped in front of Harry's chair, eyeing him expectantly. The growl in his voice added a threatening "or else" to his message.

"I will tell them, sir," Harry said. "Is there anything else you would like to talk to me about?"

"Remember my warnings," Professor Snape said. "And I shall see you in class tomorrow. You can expect more difficult questions, there. I shall show you the way to the common room."

Harry finished his last sip of tea and jumped up from his seat. Professor Snape's office was giving him the jitters, anyway. Harry followed the professor down the hallway that Sykes had left. The common room was just down the hall after making two lefts and Professor Snape had not said a word to him since leaving the office. Maybe Draco had a point – the professor was a bit creepy.

"Generare Atrum."

The blank wall on the right side of the corridor slowly slid open, revealing a luxurious dark room furnished to the teeth. Black, leather couches and chairs decorated the living space in front of the fireplace. Chairs, desks, and lamps – all black – sat behind the couches near the stairs that led to the dorm rooms. The entire space was bathed in a comfortable green hue. Harry ducked his head and slipped by the professor, but stopped when a hand gripped his shoulder firmly.

"Until tomorrow, Potter," Professor Snape drawled, a gleam in his eyes that Harry did not want to fully acknowledge.

The hand pushed him forward with a minor bit of force. Harry grimaced as the wall slid shut. Okay, the professor was really creepy.

"Harry, are you okay?"

Draco was walking towards him, concern creasing his brow. Behind him, Zabini and Nott lazily looked on from one of the black couches in the room.

"Yeah," Harry shrugged. "Professor Snape just wanted to talk. We should be on good terms, or at least passable ones, I think."

"Good," Draco said, relief flooding his features. He told me about your father. I was afraid that your father would be a problem."

"I never knew the man," Harry said incredulously. "How can I defend someone I never knew?"

"It would be pointless and sentimental," said Zabini. "I've had several 'fathers' but none were ever around long."

Nott snorted. "Your mother is dangerous, mate. That would be why."

Harry shook his head as the two began laughing. Honestly, he had had enough socializing for one day.

"I think I'm going to head downstairs, okay guys?" Harry said, motioning to the stairs leading down to their dorm room.

Nott and Zabini ignored him, continuing to talk. Draco nodded. "Let's go then."

Harry frowned. "I wanted to read, actually."

"And you can," Draco acknowledged. "After you tell me what happened when we were in line getting Sorted."

Harry sighed. "Alright, come on then."

The two boys maneuvered past the couches and people conversing to descend to the first year dorms. Just as Professor Snape had said, a map of the castle was positioned outside of the door. Harry opened the door and smiled as he looked at the room. It was wide and rectangular with a door on the other side of the room, most likely leading to a bathroom. Seven large four-poster beds lined the walls with small desks in the middle of the room, much like the ones in the common room. Harry spotted his trunk in front of the door nearest the bathroom.

"So – talk," Draco said, drawing a chair from the desk to sit in. "You would not believe how much I've suffered waiting to hear what happened."

Harry laughed softly. "Heaven forbid a Malfoy have to wait for anything."

Draco smirked, but said nothing else.

Harry sighed as he sat down on his new bed, reveling in its softness. "When we were in line, I was looking around the Head Table. When I looked at the new Defense teacher – "

"Quirrell?" Draco questioned, his eyebrows drawing together. "The stuttering idiot?"

"Yeah, him," said Harry, his fingers stroking the soft blanket on his bed. "He was looking at me so intensely and it frightened me. And then, my scar started hurting really badly. Needless to say, it was a bit freaky."

Draco's eyes widened. "Your scar hurt? I've never heard of such a thing. Has it ever done that before?"

Harry shook his head. He was lying, but Draco did not need to know about his meeting with the thief of Gringotts.

Draco stood, jumping slightly on the balls of his feet. "How could the blubbering idiot cause something like that? It had to be a coincidence, right? I'll look up curse scars sometime this week to see if anything could cause that."

Harry laughed, dropping the blanket.

"I doubt anyone had done research on a curse scar caused by the Killing Curse, Draco," Harry said sardonically. "It just gave me a scare. The man was looking at me so weirdly. I plan to keep an eye on him though, at the very least."

Draco sighed. "I'll help you, I guess. Blast it, Potter; it's the first day and you are already causing trouble."

Harry laughed, shrugging his shoulders. "It's what I do. Can I read now? I've almost finished this book."

Draco nodded, walking to his own bed. "I have a book in here from father that I would like to read as well. It covers modern modifications to runes. You should read it sometime."

"I may," Harry admitted, flipping open his book that was already near the end. "In the meantime, I have the other books your father lent me."

Harry shut the curtains around his bed, drew his wand and uttered a quick "_Lumos_."

Hogwarts was truly a majestic place, Harry mused. The grounds were green and lush, the castle was old and storied, and the professors – perhaps with the exception of the new Defense teacher, Professor Quirrell – were a wealth of knowledge. There was potential here, at the very least, something that he had never found at the orphanage. This was a place to come into his power, to learn of a new world that suited him so much better that the one he had left.

Here, Harry had friends, something the orphanage and Muggle world had never offered him. Draco was almost Harry's opposite; he was born into a wealthy family and lived with magic his whole life. Cedric was much less complicated. The Hufflepuff simply liked him for who he was – Harry. Harry grinned in remembrance of their first meeting. Harry could certainly return the favor.

And now, Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini seemed to like him well enough. That was welcome as well. The boys were already friends with each other and knew Draco well. Harry could certainly fit into whatever social structure the three already had in place.

Tomorrow was a new dawn, not only in light but in his life. He would attend magical classes for the first time, and he may even have the time to approach the Headmaster for private lessons.

'In the meantime,' Harry thought gleefully, opening the curtains to place his finished book in his trunk and to retrieve _Defensive Dueling: Dodging, Deflecting, Disarming, Defeating. _'_I have a new book to read.'_

Life was looking up.

* * *

The door slammed violently, and Quirinus Quirrell's breath came in raspy heaves.

The voice in his head chuckled sinisterly.

'_Get out, get out! I never wanted you here! You are a monster!_' He thought desperately, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

'_Liar_,' the voice said amusedly. '_You wanted my power and you came to me willingly. However, Quirinus, your folly was in believing that I could be subdued. Lord Voldemort can be controlled by no man. I am not a monster, either; I am simply what society has made me. I shall also be society's savior_.'

'_Leave me alone_,' Quirrell moaned, his hands clasping the sides of his head as he staggered through the door to his bedroom. '_Why must you torment me? I will never do your bidding_!'

'_Oh, you shall do as I say, Quirinus. You are alone in your struggle; who would ever believe you?_' Lord Voldemort chuckled before his voice grew icy. '_Our original deal was very clear; you were to act as a host to me, allowing me to grow in strength while seeking the Philosopher's Stone. In return, I promised you glory and power that you can only imagine. _

'_Why must you fight me, Quirinus? Surely you see that your efforts are futile? You are only preventing me from growing stronger. You cannot stop me from possessing you. And once I have the Philosopher's Stone, I daresay that I shall have no need for such a lowly, uncooperative servant_.'

Quirrell sat down shakily, looking into the full length mirror across the room. His skin was pale and beaded with sweat. His hands trembled with a fear that was not faked. The…_thing_ inside him was ugly, perverted in its morals, and he wanted so badly to be removed from his decision. Power was not worth _this._

'_I will never help you get the Philosopher's Stone,' _Quirrell said firmly, even as a shudder of fear ran down his spine_. 'I will stop you if it is the last thing I ever do.'_

'_Do you not understand?' _Lord Voldemort softly intoned._ 'I, Quirinus, am all powerful. I cannot be stopped - not by the likes of a pathetic excuse of a wizard like you, nor by a wizard like Dumbledore. Would you like proof of my power? You did not think I would not notice you trying to reach out to Harry Potter, did you? How is an eleven year old boy supposed to save you?'_

_Quirrell barely kept the cry of pain from reaching his mouth. 'He has beaten you once before. He can do it again. He will save me, I am sure of it!'_

'_Ah,' _Lord Voldemort replied teasingly_. 'And why should he want to? He is but a boy. Why should he have to do a man's work when said man cannot do it himself?'_

'_Because he beat you once before!' _Quirrell proclaimed_. 'You cannot kill him! He's the Boy-Who-Lived!'_

'_Yes, you've said as much,' Lord Voldemort drawled. 'But he was only a baby at the time. Why would he fight me now when he could join me instead?'_

'_Because you are a monster!' _Quirrell gasped, his stomach wrenching painfully_. 'He would never join a monster like you!'_

'_I grow weary of this conversation. You, Quirinus, are powerless to stop me. And now, I shall give you a taste of my power.'_

_Quirinus Quirrell drowned in pain as a sinister laugh raced through his mind and around bedroom. The pain was enough to pass out from, but something kept his body upright. His reflection in the mirror across the room morphed to accommodate the new, gleaming red eyes._

* * *

**Each chapter is bringing us closer and closer to the "game changers" of this story. It will not follow canon for long. Well, I mean, it will, but with certain irredeemable changes that will make it truly unique. **

**I know exactly how this next chapter will go and I will begin writing it tomorrow. It will transition us much more than this one did. Voldemort is on the move, folks.**

**Until next time.**


	8. The Dueling Pit

**Really quick, right? I felt guilty for taking so long on the last chapter so I got my ass in gear for this one. Also, some really exciting things are right around the corner; that was another big factor in motivating me to get this done.**

**A completely original chapter! Sweet, right?**

**Lemme know what you think. Isn't Cedric such a good guy?**

* * *

**Chapter 8: The Dueling Pit**

"Mr. Potter!"

Harry raised his head from his hand, dazed at the sharp tone of voice. Professor McGonagall was staring at him with raised eyebrows.

"I was attempting to explain the importance of geometric shapes in basic Transfiguration," Professor McGonagall continued. "Might I have your attention, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded swiftly, sniffing slightly to fight of the haze that had surrounded him.

"Five points from Slytherin, I think," added Professor McGonagall sternly before she returned to her lecture.

Harry sighed as Draco grimaced and muttered "Bloody witch" to his right. The joy he had first felt of entering the Wizarding World had started to fade, leaving Harry slightly disappointed. Classes were _boring_. The teachers had been going over small details in theory; the problem was, specifically, that it had been two _bloody_ weeks since the start of school and Harry had learned a grand total of four spells in class.

Professor McGonagall had shown off her Animagus ability on the first day of class and _that_ had been interesting. Since then, Professor McGonagall lectured on small details of non-animate Transfiguration that made Harry feel like ivy had begun to grow in his head.

He was restless and despite the severely light course load, he seemed to be one of the top of his class. Most first years had trouble turning a toothpick into a needle – hell, some _still_ weren't able to do it! Harry remembered the look on Professor McGonagall's face when he had transfigured the toothpick perfectly on the first try. She had given him twenty points and a fleeting smile.

Draco seemed pleased by his abilities, if a bit puzzled. Draco was well ahead of most of the students as well, but apparently even he had not picked up on spells as fast as Harry currently was. Harry had shrugged when Draco told him; Draco, after all, had been several years younger when he first began learning spells. However, Harry knew that Draco could not do wandless magic like he could.

The only Professor who had really tested his students was Professor Snape. Over the past two weeks, Harry found that he liked the professor. He always knew where he stood with Professor Snape. As long as he was playing the role of the proper student, putting in effort where it was required, Professor Snape was willing to teach well ahead of course schedules. Professor Snape also had no qualms in teaching things other than potions. Harry liked potions well enough, but spells were what he was really interested in. Professor Snape had met with the first years that first morning of class and taught them a defensive shield and several minor offensive spells; according to Professor Snape, such spells were necessary.

"I will not always be there to hold your hand," Professor Snape had said. "Therefore, you will look out for one another. If any of you are incapable or caught unawares, you bring shame to our House."

Harry could certainly agree with that. Of course, he already knew more spells than just the ones Professor Snape had taught them.

Theo and Blaise were snickering softly behind him, bringing his consciousness back to the present. The two were lifting small bits of paper with the newly learned Levitation Charm and placing them in the hair of the bushy-haired Gryffindor on the front row. Harry smirked fondly. Those two were trouble in capital letters. They got bored with class as easily as he did. Around them, no one was safe.

"For homework, I would like you all to give me 12 inches on the properties of inanimate to inanimate Transfiguration and how geometric design factors into shaping the new product," said Professor McGonagall. Harry stretched with a loud yawn and picked up his book bag, following Draco out the door.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry turned, raising his eyebrows as Professor McGonagall folded her arms. Draco sent him a questioning glance but Harry waved him off.

"It's fine," Harry murmured to the other boy. "I'll see you at lunch."

"I will save you a spot," Draco nodded. "Don't take too long, Harry."

Harry grimaced and make a jerky motion with his shoulders, as if to say "It really isn't up to me, is it?" before turning to face the Professor.

"Take a seat, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said, gesturing to a chair on the front row before leaning against the teacher's desk. Her desk sat several feet in front of him.

Harry sat in silence as the Professor studied him. Why should he have to speak first? She called him back in here, after all. Perhaps she was trying to intimidate him or something.

"Are you alright?" Professor McGonagall asked. Harry blinked.

"I'm doing fine, Professor. Thanks for asking," Harry said softly. Surely there was more to it than that?

"If that's the case, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall straightened, her face becoming more severe. "Why did you decide that my class was to become your personal nap time?"

Harry fought the urge to scowl. "I was not napping. I let my mind wander a bit and lost focus. I apologize. May I go now?"

"You most certainly may not," Professor McGonagall snapped. Silence hung between them before she lifted the tin off the teacher's desk. "Have a biscuit, Potter."

"No thanks," Harry said, trying to hold down his anger. "Lunch has just started. I don't want to ruin my appetite."

"Nonsense, Potter. Have a biscuit," The Professor shook the tin several times in front of his face. Harry reached in to grab a biscuit just to stop the damn rattling. He held it between his hands.

"Thanks," said Harry grudgingly.

Professor McGonagall nodded as she set the tin back down. "I would like to know why you cannot seem to control your mind during my class. You have done well practically, but your attention these last few classes have been less than acceptable."

Harry sighed, munching on the outer rim of the biscuit. "It's because I already know the topics you are lecturing on."

Professor McGonagall's eyebrows rose. "So you fully understand planar surfaces and their remolding during Transfiguration?"

Harry shrugged. Honestly, he didn't even need a damn wand to do what she wanted him to do. "It's easy. I don't even have to really focus that much on shapes. I just focus on what I want the object to become and then make it happen."

"So you ignore the small steps required in Transfiguration," Professor McGonagall intervened sharply, her eyes narrowing. "That is unacceptable, Mr. Potter. You must understand all the aspects of the things you are Transfiguring. Theory is extremely important in this course, especially to novices at Transfiguration."

"But it's not that impressive," Harry protested. "And I study theory on my own. And it's not just your class, Professor. I feel the same about all of them right now. I dunno – I guess I just assumed classes would be more difficult than this."

"So you expected me to instruct you all of Animagus transformations the first week of class," Professor McGonagall retorted, the skin near her eyes crinkling.

Harry scoffed. "Of course not. I just expected…more."

Professor McGonagall ducked her head and sighed, straightening herself and softening her features.

"You are very talented," Professor McGonagall remarked, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Harry felt a shudder pass through him, but did not turn away from the Professor's eyes. It was nice to hear that others acknowledged his talent at times.

"I cannot stress this enough, however," she continued, shaking his shoulder slightly. "You need this background in spell theory before you begin major work. With your skill level, I know it's hard; I see the strength already behind your spellcasting. But I need you to trust me here, Harry. Your time to shine will come: be patient."

Harry sighed and nodded. Maybe he could be patient. He still planned to talk to Professor Dumbledore later today, however. He had sent the Headmaster a letter asking for an appointment after lunch. The man had jovially responded, leaving Harry eager to meet with him.

"Is there anything else, Professor?" Harry asked. "I would like to get a bite to eat with my friends."

"You may go," Professor McGonagall said softly, rising to allow Harry to stand. "Instead of the homework assignment I gave the other students, however, I'd like you to give me 12 inches on the importance of proper spell preparation and spell theory as well as the consequences of reckless casting."

Harry closed his eyes so that Professor McGonagall could not see him roll them. Really, she was being a bit ridiculous. His stomach, however, stopped that train of thought with a mighty lurch.

"I had better get going, Professor," said Harry, picking up his book bag once more. Professor McGonagall sighed, shaking her head as the door closed behind him.

"Two weeks and he is already a hassle," She muttered scornfully.

* * *

"Harry!" Theo grinned, poking out a fork full of potatoes in Harry's direction. "So glad you could join us."

Harry smirked before taking his seat next to Draco. The boy was looking at him with eyebrows raised, obviously expecting an explanation. Blaise, sitting across from him, was giving him the same look.

"Damn, guys. Let me fill my plate at least," Harry laughed, scooping up chicken legs from the table to adorn his plate. His stomach was clawing itself with hunger at this point.

"That's filled enough," Draco stated mildly. "Now spill. What was the tabby cat's problem?"

Harry smiled through his mouthful of food before swallowing. "She wanted to know why I was day dreaming during her class. I basically told her that the class was boring and I was looking for something more challenging."

Blaise whistled. "Harry, that's a bit bold to say, don't you think?"

Harry winked, munching happily on a mouthful of garlic bread. "It isn't what you say, Blaise; it's how you say it."

Hedwig swooped down in front of him then, clutching a return letter from his only correspondent. Harry smiled and fed her a bit of chicken before ripping open the letter. Rich, purple ink met his eyes:

_Dear Harry,_

_ It is always such a treat to see your lovely owl, Hedwig. I am pleased to hear that you are enjoying her company and the books I have lent you. _

_ In regards to your last letter - you do realize that this is only your first year as a student? You cannot expect classes to fit to your admittedly superior standards. Draco has expressed similar concerns with his schooling. While I am on the Board of Governors, I cannot push change the curriculum radically in so little time. Quite frankly, other students would not be able to cope. You and Draco shall have to find other ways to make use of your time, I'm afraid._

_ This is also why I lent you books from my personal library; I could see your potential from miles away. From Draco's letters, it sounds as if you have stayed away from the…shall we say more shadowed subjects. That is very wise of you, Harry; after all, it is best to stay away from things you might not be able to handle._

_ I never knew Quirinus Quirrell personally so I cannot verify if his behavior is genuine. I can of course come to evaluate him in the near future, but I cannot do so this week. Please keep me up to date with any suspicious behavior on his part and I shall schedule an appointment with him next week._

_ Narcissa sends her greetings as well as a request to monitor Draco's oral hygiene. He is a wizard, naturally, but mothers do not see sense at times. There is nothing for it, I'm afraid to say._

_Let me know if there is anything I can do for you. A close friend of mine who reportedly patrols dungeons has reluctantly praised your efforts and abilities, and knowing him as long as I have, that's saying something. You may have a friend in him after all._

_All my best and fond regards,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

Harry tried to bite down on the indignant anger he felt at Lucius' words. '_Stay away from things you might not be able to handle, huh?_' Harry thought viciously. '_We'll see about that_.'

In truth, he had stayed away from the Dark Arts books because he did not know where to begin. How does one start Dark Arts, anyway?

The other three boys were staring at him as he looked up from the letter. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Well?" Theo said, as if it summed everything up. Harry tried to look stern but the others were not buying it.

"Bloody nosy, the lot of you," Harry muttered. "This is from Draco's father. I had a few questions for him and he wrote back." As an aside, he added, "Your mother says to brush your teeth, Drake-Drake."

Draco flushed at the pet name as the other boys guffawed. Lucius had revealed that particular name in his last letter to Harry and Harry had been waiting for the prime opportunity to use it. By Draco's scowl, Harry judged he had picked a great time.

"Funny, Potter. Really amusing," Draco scowled, snatching the letter from his hand. Harry shrugged before turning back to his plate.

"Still concerned about Quirrell?" Draco questioned, his gaze flicking to the professor in question.

"Yeah," Harry shuddered. There had been no more pain in his scar, but the man still seemed _off_. "I'm glad that your father is going to investigate him."

"He will find anything suspicious," Draco stated confidently, nibbling at the corner of his sandwich. "He always has been good at that."

In mere moments, a body pressed in on Harry's left, forcing its way onto the bench. Harry looked up from his plate into the bright gray eyes of Cedric Diggory.

"How's it going, Harry?" Cedric grinned, reaching out quickly to ruffle Harry's hair. Really, Harry huffed, the Hufflepuff needed to stop doing that.

"Going well, Ced," said Harry, flicking the older boy on the ear. "Learn anything new today in class?"

"Yes, actually," He beamed. "Professor Flitwick taught us the Summoning and Banishing Charms. I haven't quite gotten the hang of it but I should have it down by this weekend.

"Brilliant," Harry smiled it return. Cedric simply made him smile, for some reason. "You'll have to show me how that's done later."

Cedric laughed. "Of course I will. Do you ever take a break learning spells, though? Your head's always in that book you've got."

Harry shook his head. "Not really. It's fun for me. I didn't grow up around magic so every little bit excites me."

"That orphanage must have really been no fun, huh?" Cedric grimaced. "I just wanted to come over and check on you. You have plans for this afternoon?"

Harry nodded, swallowing a mouthful of green beans before responding. "I'm done with classes, but I've got an appointment with the Headmaster. I plan to study later on, too."

Cedric patted him heartily on the back, grinning once more. "I'll have to meet up with you then. Professor Dumbledore's a fun guy. I think you'll enjoy that meeting. Anyway, I've got to go, pal. I'll talk to you later!"

Harry grinned after the boy as Cedric dashed back over to the Hufflepuff table. Some of the older Slytherins were looking strangely at Cedric, but they weren't opposed to him sitting at their table at least.

Turning back to the table – and more importantly, his plate of food – Blaise, Draco, Theo, and even Crabbe and Goyle who had been stuffing their merry faces down at the end of the table were all looking at him.

"Oh for Christ's sake," Harry moaned. "Seriously, guys; stop staring at me!" He still wasn't completely used to people paying so much attention to him.

"You and your pet Hufflepuff," Draco murmured amusedly, earning a shove from Harry.

* * *

"Come in, Harry!"

Harry opened the sturdy wooden door to reveal the most fascinating room he had ever seen. Gizmos and gadgets sat on shelves, some whirling around making noise or flashing colors, some giving off smoke in a variety of colors. A shocking crimson-colored bird sat upon a golden perch, its tail feathers matching the brilliant tone of the perch. Harry wished he had more eyes to look around. _This _was magic. The bird let out a soft, warm warble after staring at Harry for a moment.

Behind the large oak desk sat the Headmaster, wearing robes of a deep purple and a fond smile. Professor Dumbledore's blue eyes sparkled pleasantly in Harry's company. Harry flashed the man a smile before sitting down in the leather chair before him.

"Your office is brilliant," Harry said, drawing a chuckle out of the man. "Really interesting. It reminds me of the first time I did magic."

"That is lovely to hear, Harry, if I may call you so," Professor Dumbledore said warmly. "I was surprised to receive your letter but beyond pleased to have the opportunity to talk with you. How are your classes? Your teachers say nothing but positive things about you, even the more stubborn ones," He added humorously.

Harry smiled, shrugging sheepishly. "They've been alright, I guess. That is why I wanted to talk to you, actually." Harry breathed deeply. He did not really want talk of his wandless magic getting out, but it seemed necessary in this situation.

"I've been able to do wandless magic since I was young," Harry started, looking at the shelf above the Professor's head. Professor Dumbledore had steepled his fingers and was watching his face, but Harry could not get himself to match the Headmaster's eyes just yet.

"It was little things at first," Harry continued. "I could make something roll to me or I could push things away. Eventually, I learned to repair things and really do whatever I made my mind up to do.

I think, because of this, classes don't really strike home with me as much. The classes are brilliant, don't get me wrong, but they are teaching things I can already do _wandlessly,_ you know? And doing it with a wand is even easier. I wanted to ask you if you would consider teaching me personally a bit because of this. I feel like I am already past what the professors are instructing others in and I would like to learn more. Magic is…wonderful. I cannot get enough of it and I would like to study a bit on my own. I have no guide for that, so I was hoping you could help?"

Harry ended his little speech with a hopeful lilt to his words. He finally plucked up the courage to look directly into Professor Dumbledore's eyes. His blue eyes were looking at him past his half-moon spectacles, down his crooked nose and past tall, steepled fingers. Professor Dumbledore had listened patiently and now seemed to be measuring his words.

"First, Harry, let me inform you that I am not outright declining," Professor Dumbledore started, raising one finger. "But what exactly would you like to study?"

"Everything," Harry said honestly. "I want to learn as much as possible about as many things as possible. It all means something to me. Anything you'd be willing to teach, I would love to learn."

Professor Dumbledore nodded gravely. "The problem, Harry, is that I have over five-hundred students -"

"None that can do what I can do," Harry intervened. He did not like the look on the Headmaster's face.

"None that can do wandless magic," He acknowledged, smiling slightly at Harry. "Which is truly remarkable and something to be proud of. However, I cannot offer each student private lessons with me, as much as I would like to. I have other responsibilities that take up too much of my time. Perhaps if you had some focused material that you wished to learn, I could help you. In the end, however, this is probably a wise decision. At this stage in your education, personal instruction is not what you require."

Professor Dumbledore smiled sadly at him. Harry, personally, was stunned.

"But, Professor," Harry argued. "You could teach me whatever you wished to for any amount of time. I'm open to anything. I just want to learn."

The Headmaster nodded to him, still smiling that sad smile. "I beg your pardon, but that is quite obvious to me, and as a teacher I am overjoyed to see a student so willing to learn. What I will say to you is this – go study on your own this semester. Find what truly interests you. When you return from the Christmas break, perhaps we can work something out."

Harry felt his jaw opening. This was really getting out of hand. "But – "

"My dear boy, I will suggest books - I will even give you a pass to the Restricted Section of the library," Professor Dumbledore affirmed, drawing a quill and ink from the desk as he said so. "But I feel at this point in your education, you will learn more individually than I could teach you. Go study. Continue to work hard. Come back after the Christmas holidays and I shall do my best to guide your studies then."

Harry heaved a hefty sigh, lowering his head in disappointment. "Thank you for your time, sir," he said softly. He could not keep the dejected note out of his voice. He stood to leave, but the Headmaster stopped him.

"Please take this," Professor Dumbledore said, holding out two sheets of parchment. "One is your pass to the Restricted Section of the library. The other is a list of books that would suggest that you read. They cover a wealth of topics. This is all I can provide you with for now."

Harry nodded, avoiding the Professor's eyes and stuffing the pieces of parchment into his robes. He wanted to make as dignified an exit as possible. Of course, Professor Dumbledore had to ruin that.

"I am proud of you, Harry," He said, his wizened hand settling near the nape of his neck. "You remind me a lot of how I was as a child. Just remember that there is more to the world than magic. There are those that befriend us, those that love us, and we must always find our balance in the world. Magic is a constant; it will always be there. Friends, duties and choices all change with time."

Harry tried not to let the words affect him as he was led out of the office.

* * *

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose as he let the book fall shut, rubbing slightly at the corner of his eye. He had just finished his book on defensive dueling, but could not stop thinking about his meeting with Professor Dumbledore. The wizard was kind, caring, and that made his refusal hurt that much more. If he had simply declined outright, Harry would not have gotten his hopes up.

Draco was sitting on the other side of a black couch, conversing with Daphne Greengrass, a pretty girl in their year. She was nice enough as well, though a bit innocent. For a Slytherin, that is.

They were in the Common Room and looking around, Harry now saw a small argument being had with a few upper years. A burly, black haired boy was snarling at Felix Sykes. Sykes stared back impassively, but his hazel eyes betrayed his building anger. Several upper years were standing around, looking passive but watching the action sharply.

The burly boy leaned in close to Sykes and apparently said something unforgiveable. Sykes' eyes flashed with unbridled anger before he reached out, palming the burly boy's face, and shoving him roughly back.

"Woah, Draco," Harry murmured, pushing lightly at Draco's shoulder. The boy whirled around with an inquisitive look, but followed Harry's pointing hand. Silence had fallen upon the entire Common Room with every gaze locked onto the scowling boys.

"Dueling Pit," Sykes said harshly, his voice carrying. The room broke out into whispers as a fourth year boy sprinted out of the Common Room in the direction of Snape's office. Harry looked around wildly. Draco had his eyebrows raised as he peeked over the back of the leather couch. Theo and Blaise, both close by, looked on in puzzlement. Sykes and the other boy were both fuming, but neither had moved. The only difference was that both boys had their wands out.

Draco turned to him to shrug. "Well, shit," Harry echoed. None of the younger years, it seemed, had the faintest clue of what was going on.

What was going on was answered as Professor Snape swept into the Common Room, wand drawn, drawing silence with his presence.

"What is the grievance?" Professor Snape demanded, stepping between the two boys. Sykes answered promptly, "An insult to my position and to my family. In return, demand a challenge in the Dueling Pit."

"And the stakes?" Professor Snape questioned mildly, turning his head minutely to glance at Flint. Harry watched the boy grin, one not at all polite.

"His job as prefect," Flint said, his voice low and gleeful. The crowd surrounding them tittered with excitement.

Professor Snape nodded slowly at Flint before returning his attention to Sykes. "And in return?" He drawled.

"His Quidditch Captaincy," Sykes muttered lowly, anger coloring his features. Professor Snape studied the boy for a moment before addressing those assembled in the Common Room.

"The grievance and terms have been accepted," Professor Snape said softly. "I was hoping to inform the first years of the tradition of the Dueling Pit later this week, but that choice has been taken from me."

Professor Snape spared the two boys a small glare. "I expect an older student to fill the first years in on the rules and traditions of the Dueling Pit."

Professor Snape clasped the spare hands of the two boys, raising them into the air. "For now, we duel. One fight to finish the feud."

Several students cheered as Professor Snape led the boys down the dorm staircase, following behind.

"C'mon, kiddies," An upper year girl urged. "I'll tell you what's going on. You won't want to miss this."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. "Dueling Pit" sounded fun, whatever it was. He hopped off the couch and followed behind the girl. Theo was to his left, grinning. Harry guessed that he was sporting a grin of his own.

"The Dueling Pit is a Slytherin tradition," the girl announced, leading them all down the spiral staircase. "No one speaks of it unless it is to other Slytherins."

"I guess that's why my father never mentioned it," Draco said sullenly. He never was one to be left out. Harry roughly patted his shoulder in a motion of encouragement.

"We use it to settle fights, basically," She continued. "There is proper protocol of course, but the Head of House is left to care for that. It is a way that all Slytherins can face the rest of the school as a unit. All disputes can be resolved in the Pit.

"Dueling here does not follow international rules. There are no seconds. We fight until one is incapacitated, not wandless. Anything is permitted as long as it does not kill, irrevokably maim, or cause so much damage that it cannot be healed by the Head of House."

"So they will fight until one cannot get up," Harry surmised. The group had reached the bottom floor of the staircase and all the Slytherins were trying to cram inside. Harry peered around a rather large older boy to see the outline of a black door and faint lights from inside.

The girl nodded, turning with a pleased smirk on her face. "Nothing else to do now but enjoy the show, firsties."

The girl ducked through the door, leaving the first years to view a most marvelous sight.

"Holy shit," Blaise breathed. Harry felt that he had summed it up flawlessly. Through the door was a small, circular arena in the style of the ancient gladiators. Stairs led down from the doorway to the black marble arena. Rows of wooden bleachers circled the arena, raised up to be beyond the reach of stray spells. Rows of torches adorned the walls over the heads of the spectators.

It was a breathtaking sight to Harry. The arena was quite small, only forty feet or so round. The bleachers walled off any escape. This duel would be from close range with little time to dodge or duck.

Professor Snape positioned the boys on opposite sides of the arena, reciting an apparently memorized list of rules. Harry tried to control his excitement as Snape let his hand fall.

Spells. Colors. Shouts and glares and a primal battle of wills. Harry was enraptured. Sykes flicked a shield in place as a sickly yellow colored spell met it, the opposing spell flowing around the shield like water and continuing on to hit the wall behind Sykes. Harry breathed in a rich smell, filled with passion and endless possibilities. _This_ was what he was waiting for.

The whirl of colors washed over Harry as he took in the battle. Flint seemed to not understand the concept of defense or maybe he did not need it; the boy simply threw spell after spell at Sykes, who used his limited space to roll out of the way of some unsightly looking curses. It occurred to Harry that Sykes was not comfortable deflecting such strong curses.

"_Arma Diruptia!"_ Sykes growled in a moment's pause from Flint, flicking his wand down towards Flint's legs. The purple, sizzling spell, however, met the black marble well in front of Flint and dissipated. Harry felt surprise catch him. Why would Sykes waste time to fire a spell with such poor aim?

"_Compesio!"_ Flint shouted. A golden spell wrapped around Syke's feet, chaining them to the ground. The boy ignored the effect; there would be no time to counter the spell as another was sent from the encroaching Flint.

Flint was going to win, Harry realized quickly. Sykes had just been hit with several cutting curses as Flint continued to approach the boy. Sykes was bleeding from his chest and arms as well as his forehead.

With another step, Flint swaggered his way to his prey, a sadistic gleam in his eyes. Step. Step. Another step.

_BOOM! _

The noise echoed through the room as fractured pieces of marble rained down on the arena. Harry felt himself gasp. Sykes was crouched with an arm over his face to protect himself. Flint, however…

'_Damn, is he breathing?_' Harry wondered. "Bloody hell," Draco murmured from his right. Marcus Flint's body was thrown against the side of the arena, bleeding profusely from his head. Bloody hell indeed.

Professor Snape stepped in from the side of the arena, moving to remove the curse from Sykes and to heal him even as Flint bled out onto the floor. Such was the fate of the loser, Harry supposed.

Sykes shook hands with Professor Snape before meeting the approving Slytherin crowd. The boy seemed cheerful enough, if a bit tired. It seemed that Flint had had an edge in power, but Sykes was awfully crafty, anticipating his inevitable disadvantage.

"You've got to teach me that one, Sykes!" Harry shouted over the crowd. The boy winked in return, nodding. "You learn whatever's necessary to win, Potter," Sykes returned before heading out of the Dueling Pit, the whole of Slytherin in his wake. He was the King of the House, if at least for one night. Harry looked back just before he left the room; Snape was kneeling over Flint's prone body, summoning a house elf to bring him potions. There was no honor left for Flint, even as the stronger of the two duelists. There was no pride to be won in defeat; there was no glory for a loser.

* * *

"That was amazing!" Draco gushed back in their dorm room. Crabbe and Goyle were sitting in a daze, as if shocked by what they had seen. Theo was grinning, as always, and practicing wand movements on his bed.

"Sykes is brilliant. I'd have never thought to act so weak. What a daring move, too!" Blaise cheered. Harry scrunched his brows together, knowing better. It was no act; Sykes had read the duel perfectly. He had been at a disadvantage from the start.

"Night, guys," Harry said vaguely, reaching for his trunk. He had a new book to start. Clasping it in his hand, he drew the curtains of his four-poster shut, ignoring the answering words from his yearmates.

'_You learn whatever's necessary to win, huh_?' Harry reflected. He stared down at the book in his hands. It was a sturdy leather book with gleaming gold letters, almost tauntingly displayed.

_It sounds as if you have stayed away from the…shall we say more shadowed subjects. That is very wise of you, Harry; after all, it is best to stay away from things you might not be able to handle._

Harry recoiled from the words. They stung his mind with challenge.

'_I can certainly handle it, Lucius_,' Harry fumed mentally. He made his mind up right then.

Lying back into the comfortable pillows, Harry wrenched open the cover of _Ritualism: Borne of Sacrifice, Treasured for Eternity_ and turned to the preface.

Harry took a deep breath. "_Whatever's necessary_," he reminded himself in a whisper. Whatever's necessary - including Dark Arts.

* * *

**Bum. Bum. Buuuuuum. That "interviewing Quirrell" mess looks like a huge event, doesn't it? It will be. The story is really about to take off. I'm excited and I hope you are as well.**

**The Dueling Pit was not originally planned, but it hit me with such velocity and presents so many possibilities that I just had to get it in. I'm quite pleased with that idea, actually. Oh, the possibilities...**

**The thing with Dumbledore - well, let me back up. I don't bash characters. I see the "good" in them all, if that's even the right word to use. Dumbledore was genuinely kind in the books, if a bit sacrificing at times. Ultimately, he is a good guy. I tried to present him as thus. The problem with him will not be that he's some evil mastermind; no, his flaws will be even more deadly. You've already seen one.**

**The next update probably won't be _this_ quick, but what do I know? Maybe it will be. **

**Anyway, until next time.**

**Brigade**


	9. Red Eyes See All

**I'm on a fucking roll, folks! On to Chapter 9!**

* * *

**Chapter 9: Red Eyes See All**

Harry breathed in shakily as he examined the knife in his hands. It was simply a butter knife – one nicked from dinner this evening with a scripted "H" engraved into the handle. He was kneeling inside the Forbidden Forest in a bright clearing near the edge of the woods, a clearing that was flooded with light from the moon. Harry looked down unsurely at the book resting innocently at his side. Tonight, he was going to try…a ritual.

'_An easy one_,' Harry reminded himself. The book that Lucius Malfoy had lent him had described this particular ritual as "simple, with only minor sacrifices." But just the idea of practicing a ritual made Harry uncertain. The book had been very up front on the potential consequences of a ritual and did not approach them from the vantage point of a practitioner. The book simply researched them, giving no special wisdom of how to complete rituals. Harry stuck a leaf between the open pages and flipped back to the preface of the book, reading it one more time:

_Rituals have been around since the origins of magic, a way to gather magic and to convert it into another form. The ancient Druidic magical culture used rituals to develop primitive defenses, enchantments, and more. The Druids studied and developed their rituals on Inis Mona. _

_Rituals have become much more efficient since the Druid's simplistic times. The additions of words, runes, and human sacrifice have added newfound powers to ritualism. The combination of intention being echoed in heart, voice, earth, runes, and sacrifice have added a power to ritualism that wastes very little of the properties' magical potential._

_A ritual means more than just its effects. It results in a conversion of power, but the process differentiates in its practice._

_The art of a ritual is in its aforementioned sacrifice. Just as one must sacrifice physical effort for physical gain, so must one sacrifice magic in one form to gain it in another. Ritualism is a practice that follows no coded path; instead, words, materials, magic, and intent all combine to produce a physical change. _

_Some rituals require that they be done at a certain time of day. For some, particular days of the year are necessary. Location may be important as well. All of these details aid in expressing the intentions of the practitioner._

_The rituals described in this book come with their own history as well as the name and background of the individual who created them. A word of caution: for those who wish to practice these rituals may face difficulty in gathering the materials described. In most rituals, replacements may be used, but the replacements may alter the desired effect of the ritual. We implore aspired practitioners to do further research on specific rituals before attempting them and to refrain from practicing without supervision. A corrupted ritual may cause severe damage to the practitioner._

The preface had really concerned Harry the first time he had read it, specifically the "refrain from practicing without supervision" bit, but there simply was nothing for it. Who was he to go to? Professor McGonagall? Professor Snape? _Draco_? Harry had scoffed at the time. They would all try to talk him out of it, he was sure. Plus, what business was it of any of theirs? His power and knowledge was his own; they had no claim to it. No, instead, Harry had waited until tonight, a Friday night, so he had the maximum amount of recovery time in case it was necessary.

Harry nodded distractedly as he turned back to the ritual he had picked.

_The Ritual of Mental Clarity _

_The Ritual of Mental Clarity uses the magical potential of living herbs to empower the human mind for limited periods of time. The effects of this ritual are not permanent and thus, need only minor "fueling." The ritual, therefore, is a simple one, requiring only minor sacrifices._

_The practitioner sacrifices the magical essence of living plants, fertile earth, and sitting water. Leaves must be gathered from certain living plants (a comprehensive list of acceptable plants is listed on page 147), and must be woven into a crown to be placed upon the head. The practitioner must then create a risen moat of earth in the shape of a circle, three inches higher than the earth around it and three feet in diameter. On the outer right, tangent to the moat of earth, a moat of water is dug out, three inches lower than the earth around it. The water must be produced from any enclosed body (lakes, ponds, et cetera). Then, the left forearm of the practitioner must be used to donate blood. The practitioner's blood acts as a catalyst for this ritual, starting the conversion of magic. The crown of leaves must be coated in the practitioner's blood. _

_The words, usually so important in magical practices, are insignificant in this ritual. The practitioner, with the crown resting on top of his or her head, specked with blood, must express their desire to fulfill the ritual in whatever their native language might be – word choice is up to them._

_In comparison to most rituals, the sacrifices of this ritual are tame. For example, The Ritual of Physical Potential (for more information, turn to page 376)…_

The ritual appealed to Harry for several reasons. For starters, it was straightforward and required things he easily had access to. In fact, it had taken Harry only three days to produce everything he would need for the ritual. Even more importantly, the ritual would improve him, if only for a short period of time. The book did not state how long the ritual's effects would last, but it had to be a decent amount of time, right?

Harry sighed. The Restricted Section had offered no mention of this particular ritual, giving him very little detail from which to act. The Restricted Section did however produce several books that helped him find the plants needed for the ritual. Harry supposed he ought to thank Professor Dumbledore for the help. The Forbidden Forest seemed to really have a ridiculous variety of plant life.

The earth had already been used to create the risen mote. Harry had dug out the circle using his wand, leaving muddy clay raised inches over the rest of the clearing. On the outer ring, Harry had deposited water gathered from the Black Lake. The crown of leaves lay next to the book, down near his knees. Everything was as it should be.

The trees overhead rustled as birds chittered away to one another, startling Harry. He was aware that his hands were shaking, but there was nothing for it. He was justified in feeling nervous, Harry knew; the problem was that fear had no place in this ritual. Still, he could only contain his nervousness.

"Alright then," Harry said aloud. It was time to pluck up the courage to try this thing. Harry remembered the orphanage and how powerless he once was. Eventually, he became a boy that no one messed with. Why? '_I took control_,' Harry thought. Once he had learned of his magic, he practiced it. He did what was necessary. Lucius Malfoy's words stung like a wasp inside his head. Felix Sykes' followed – it was time that Harry took control of his ambitions.

Harry gritted his teeth as he placed the crown upon his head, moving the book from the circle and kneeling once again in the middle. Cutting his forearm should be no big deal. All he needed was a little blood, right? A minor cut was all that was necessary.

'_Nice and steady_,' He thought soothingly, drawing the small stubbled blade across his forearm. Small beads of blood soon began to form. Harry exhaled harshly, tossing the knife aside and using his right hand to gather the blood. The cut was even shallower than he had intended but it would have to do; he did not know if he could gather the courage to cut deeper.

Harry raised shaky fingers to the crown, staining the leaves with his blood. The leaves resting on his unguarded forehead warmed slightly as the blood soaked them. Harry rubbed his forearm as he considered his the step. His body trembled in anticipation; whether this ritual worked or went horribly wrong, his body would be left to deal with the consequences.

"I wish to improve myself," Harry said aloud, his voice cracking in his nervousness. He quickly steeled himself. "Using these leaves, this earth, this water, I wish to improve myself. My blood is my sacrifice – let theirs match mine."

The leaves began to smoke and sizzle, heat radiating from them, hotter and hotter. Harry winced as the crown lowered slightly and pressed into his ears. A sharp pain, unrelated to the feeling of burning flesh, began at his temples, drawing a sharp exhale from him. The leaves blackened and fell around him, past his eyes and ears, down his neck. Lights, sounds and colors filled his senses. Everything around him glowed with an inner light. Harry blinked rapidly, cold breath stabbing at his lungs. His brain was adjusting quickly, processing changes that Harry could not consciously determine.

_Oh wow_.

Harry smelled the earth below him with startling sharpness, a heady, moderate smell that lulled behind the acrid aroma of ashes. Harry looked down, blinking again as he noticed his vision was blurry. Harry withdrew his glasses from the bridge of his nose, startled as his vision improved with startling clarity.

"Bloody brilliant," Harry breathed, aware of his voice starting deep within his chest, rushing out in crisp efficiency. The ritual had _worked_, and in ways Harry had not even considered. It was obvious _now_, of course; the brain was the center of all activity in the body. Improving the brain's performance would naturally boost his senses as well. Harry was aware of the dirt underneath his thumbnail now, as well as the beating heart merrily drumming inside his chest. He stood quickly, looking around him and _seeing,_ more now than at any other time in his life.

"I love magic," Harry grinned. He gathered his things in a state of euphoria, reveling in the smooth leather book in his left hand and the wand in his right. With a flick of his wrist, the dirt smoothed out, leaving the clearing as it was before Harry began his ritual.

Harry never noticed the red eyes that had looked on from an outcropping of trees. A soft noise of laughter broke the silence of the night.

* * *

"I did not realize you were so good on a broom, Harry," Cedric beamed, setting the school broom back into its place in the shed. It was Saturday morning and the sun was approaching the top of the sky. Harry grinned, ducking his head as he set his broom down.

"Thanks, Ced. I got a bit of practice at Draco's this summer," He lied.

"A bit?" Cedric questioned, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulders. "You look like you've been flying all your life! I've never seen anybody so quick to the snitch before!"

Cedric had come to Harry at breakfast this morning to ask if he wanted to go flying and Harry had readily agreed; the ritual's effects were still going strong as they had the night before and he had been eager to see how much it improved flying. The first years had had a flying lesson with Madam Hooch the previous weekend, but they did little more than hovering in place. Neville Longbottom had broken his wrist. With the boy sobbing, Madam Hooch had cancelled the rest of the lesson.

And boy, what a _rush_ flying was! The sky was bright with a cool breeze whipping at his face, the golden glint of the snitch, a prime target for his focus. Soon, Harry found himself weaving, spiraling through the air with a grin on his face.

"I just try to have fun, Cedric," Harry smiled. "I guess I have some talent at flying, then?"

Cedric snorted, shaking Harry as they walked. "More talent than any kid at this school, I'd wager. You could play professional Quidditch if you wanted, I'd bet!"

Harry laughed, trying to shake off the nagging feeling that he had an unfair advantage over Cedric. His eyesight was keen, his senses finely tuned, his body coordinating with his mind to a ridiculous degree. In the end, though, the ritual he had practiced the previous night was open to anyone; if they simply used everything at their disposal, there was nothing holding them back.

"I think it's a bit early to be deciding a career," Harry replied dryly. "Besides, I don't even play Quidditch yet. I think getting a few games under my belt would help that 'going professional' idea."

Cedric shrugged. "You should play then! I've played against Higgs, the Slytherin seeker before and trust me, you're better."

"Well of course I am," Harry boasted, a teasing smile forming. "I'd wager that I'm better than you, too."

Cedric shoved him, laughing merrily. "You wish, Potter!"

Harry recovered with a smile, falling back into step with Cedric. He still wanted to learn to fly without a broom, of course, but that would have to wait; the sheer success of his first ritual left Harry contemplating others. In fact, there was one he had skimmed over that promoted physical and muscular growth that he was itching to perform. Even better, the results would be permanent!

The two boys walked back to the castle for lunch, enjoying each other's company. Cedric truly was a good guy, in Harry's opinion. He had never met anyone like him. Draco and most of the other Slytherins looked down their noses at those weaker than them, but Cedric liked everybody. It was unheard of; no one could like everybody. But despite that, Harry was still at a loss when he contemplated why Cedric hung around him so much. He enjoyed it, sure, but the older boy had so many other friends. If he did not know Cedric's straightforward nature, he would be suspicious.

Upon entering the Great Hall, the wonderful scent of a Hogwarts lunch filled their senses. The smells were fascinating to Harry, who had encountered the same phenomenon at breakfast. Usually, the aroma of multiple foods mixed into one combined smell. For Harry and his currently enhanced mental functioning, the redolence of the food was not singular; he could smell the different meats individually, the cheeses…there was even an onion broth that was detectable. Harry's stomach growled in anticipation.

"Let's go to the Slytherin table," Harry urged. Cedric nodded, following the younger boy.

"Have fun?" Draco replied drolly as the two sat down across from him. He had a book opened to the right of his plate, filled with chicken. Harry reached quickly across, nicking a chicken leg.

"Thanks," He said, grinning at the indignant look on his classmate's face.

"We had a great time," intervened Cedric. "Harry here should be playing Quidditch."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Really?

Cedric nodded emphatically. "The kid's a natural on a broom. It's really amazing."

Harry ignored them, instead focusing on the brilliance of his turkey sandwich. He had filled up a bowl of that onion broth to accompany it, and dipping the sandwich into the soup was a _spectacular_ idea, on first taste.

"Father?" Draco questioned, snapping Harry out of his reverie. Turning around, Draco was right; Lucius Malfoy was walking through the doors of the Great Hall, up to the Head Table.

"What is he doing here? I assumed that he would inform me if he was coming to visit," Draco continued a bit petulantly.

The answer made itself known in Harry's mind. "I assume he is here to question Professor Quirrell on behalf of the Board of Governors," He said, watching as Lucius moved from talking to the Headmaster to shaking hands with Professor Snape. "Remember the letter, Draco? Why else would he be here?"

"You could ask him yourselves," Cedric pointed out. Indeed, Lucius was now making his way towards them, his shiny cane clicking on the tiled floor. Harry swallowed the last bit of his sandwich as Lucius' hand clasped his shoulder.

"Harry," He greeted with a nod, turning to Cedric. "And Mr. Diggory – lovely to see you again. How are your studies progressing?"

"Very well, sir; thanks," Cedric smiled. He then turned his attention to Harry. "I assume you guys would like a bit of privacy; I'll head back to the Hufflepuff table. Great flying with you today, Harry."

With a pat on the back, Cedric left. Harry shook his head fondly; how that boy was able to walk away from a potentially interesting conversation just for someone else's sake, he would never know.

"Greetings, Father," Draco nodded. "I had no idea that you would be here today."

Lucius nodded gravely. "The Board of Governors has sent me to interview Hogwarts' new Defense professor; we would like to make sure everything checks out. I'm sure meeting with Professor Quirrel will be a pleasure."

Lucius finished his statement by looking at Harry. '_Message received, Lucius_,' Harry thought slyly.

"And how are your studies going, Harry? Learning quickly, I hope?" Lucius added, the man's grey eyes sharpening.

"Yes sir," said Harry softly. "I actually learned a bit about sacrifices and their place in magic yesterday."

A pleased glint entered Lucius' eyes as a smirk began to tug at the corner of his mouth. "That is fantastic to hear, Harry. I assume such knowledge was not over your head?"

Harry tapped his temple. "The mind is a spectacular thing, sir," He said graciously.

Lucius' smirk widened. "Truly. I apologize for cutting such a pleasant conversation short, but I have duties to fulfill. Draco, my son, I shall find you before I leave. I would love to hear about your first few weeks at school."

Draco nodded, a soft smile forming. "Yes sir. I look forward to it."

Lucius bowed his head. "Until then," He said. Without a backward glance, Lucius retreated from the hall.

Draco still had a smile on his face, but it was quickly replaced by a puzzled frown. "In all of that," He said, gesturing vaguely with his hand. "I feel like I missed something. Care to explain, Harry?"

Harry snorted into his onion broth, shaking his head in amusement.

"Later, Draco," He grinned.

* * *

"How are you, old friend?" Lucius grinned, crossing his legs as he nursed a cup of tea. Severus Snape had invited him to his living quarters for a cup while Lucius waited for his…appointment.

Severus Snape's quarters were much like their owner: dark, organized, and stiff. The pair were currently enjoying a pot of tea from the Hogwarts kitchens and sitting at Severus' round dining table. Severus sat opposite his visitor.

"Very little, regretfully," Severus scoffed. "The brats grow more incompetent by the year and I doubt that will ever change. I've gotten to the point that I refuse to grade papers that cannot hold my interest; you would think that a 'Dreadful' would motivate them."

Lucius nodded in sympathy. "I hope Draco has been no trouble for you? I plan to speak to him later, and I shall address his schooling if need be."

Severus waved him off. "Draco has been…a pleasure," He sneered. "The boy has been acceptable in my class. I cannot truly assess his practical prowess in potions only three weeks into the school year, but he at least knows to read ahead."

Lucius smiled. "That is good to hear. But what about Potter?"

Severus' black eyes chilled. "What about him?"

"Has he been as acceptable as Draco?" Lucius inquired after a sip of tea. "I have been mentoring the boy in a sense; I hope he has not caused trouble?"

Severus paused, dislike clouding his features. "I hated his father, Lucius. James Potter – "

"Was an idiot," Lucius finished. "I'm well aware, Severus."

"It was more than that," Severus snapped. "The man and his merry band of misfits singled me out from the first day at Hogwarts. Every time I look Harry Potter in the face, I see that thrice damned man. And yet, the boy is as far away from the father as possible. He is always ready for class and has not caused any trouble."

"Did you know that the boy was raised in an orphanage?" Lucius questioned.

Severus' eyes snapped to the other man, looking for any trace of a lie. "I was led to believe that the boy would be raised by his Aunt and Uncle," Severus began.

"Good lord, the boy has an Aunt and Uncle? I never knew," Lucius proclaimed, his eyebrows raising.

"On his mother's side – Muggles," Severus conceded as Lucius sneered. "But on the night of Our Lord's fall, the Gamekeeper Hagrid picked the boy up from his home. The plan was to leave him with his Aunt and Uncle; I do not know what changed that original plan."

Severus sighed, setting down his own cup of tea in favor of rubbing his face. "Not that I do not enjoy your company, Lucius, but what is the real reason as to why you are here?"

Lucius smirked, quirking his head. "Harry has informed me that Quirinus Quirrell is a shady fellow. I plan to interrogate him to see if there is any truth to the boy's words. It would not do, after all, for the Board of Governors to leave an incompetent instructor in place."

Severus grunted. "Quirrell is a blubbering idiot. I must reluctantly agree with Potter, though; there is something more to him than being just a shuddering, stuttering mess. I do not trust him either. You'll share your discoveries with me, I hope?"

Lucius nodded graciously. "My dear friend, why would I withhold information from the only man I trust in Hogwarts? I am interrogating Quirinus Quirrell for more than just a way to soothe Harry's suspicions; is there anything that might make the man more suspicious?"

"There is an item being guarded within this school," Severus admitted softly. "I am not in a position to disclose the name of this item, but would certainly be coveted by many if they knew it was here. Quirrell knows what this item is as well. There is…reason to believe that the man desires this object for his own personal gain. It is something that I am disinclined to allow to happen."

Lucius nodded in understanding, setting his cup of tea on the table and smoothing his silky robes. "Dumbledore is in on hiding this object, no doubt. The tea was lovely, Severus; Narcissa insists that you must visit for dinner sometime."

Severus inclined his head. "I shall endeavor to do so," He said. "Unfortunately, the superfluous drama of teenagers takes up most of my free time."

Lucius laughed, standing with a flourish. "Severus, let the teenagers be someone else's responsibility every now and then."

"No one else can do the job to my satisfaction," Severus quipped, rising to join his friend near the door.

Lucius smiled fondly. "Indeed," He said. "But I must be off; there is an interesting Defense professor to meet."

"Interesting," Severus muttered. "Whatever else there is to the man will certainly not be interesting."

"We shall see," Lucius acknowledged. Gripping his cane, he set off to find the Defense professor.

* * *

"Mi-Mister Malfoy," Professor Quirrell said jerkily, his fingers quivering as he opened the door. "Please d-do c-c-come in."

Lucius arched an eyebrow. Severus and Harry both had warned him that the man stuttered, but this was ridiculous. How was such a pathetic man supposed to teach _Defense_?

He entered swiftly and looked around the man's quarters. There was very little in the room that could be described as personal. Brown, wooden furniture furnished the living space and a small, beige couch sat near a coffee table. The man had a small bookcase, but from Lucius' examination, there were no books of interest.

Professor Quirrell walked by him, tripping on the edge of his rug with a squeak. Was the man nervous? Or was this truly the man's nature? Either way, Lucius was quickly losing patience.

"I am here, Quirrell, because I have received word that you are failing in your duties to this school," Lucius drawled. Quirinus Quirrell looked at him with wide eyes. "And I must say that I am less than impressed by your current behavior."

He surveyed the man quickly. Quirrell truly was a pathetic sight. The man's already pale skin had a sickly pallor to it and dark circles lined cloudy blue eyes. The man wore black robes and black boots with a ridiculous turban wrapped upon his head.

"I-I-I ap-apologize Mr. M-Malfoy," The man stuttered. "I-I can p-promise you that I-I-I am much m-more impressive in c-c-class."

Lucius sneered. "I truly doubt that. Honestly, I am considering firing you right here. The usual process involves that I report back to the other Governors, but for such a _pathetic _excuse for a teacher, I believe I can do without those rules."

Quirrell turned from him sharply, his hands coming up to clasp his face. The man trembled, and Lucius felt his lip curl.

"If you think I feel any pity for you – "

"_Kneel_."

Lucius started, his heart jumping into his throat. His left forearm had stung slightly, adding to his startlement, but hearing that voice right _now_ was _impossi_-.

"_I will not ask again, Lucius_."

Lucius quickly complied, falling to his knees and grasping his left forearm. Lucius' cane clanged as it hit the floor, bouncing a few feet away. Quirinus Quirrell still had his back to him, but the man had gone very still. The hard surface underneath his knees was already causing discomfort.

But then, Quirinus Quirrell turned around. Lucius Malfoy bit back a scream.

The man was still the same, but those _eyes_, that _voice_ – Lord Voldemort, his Lord, stood before him once again.

"My – My Lord," Lucius bowed, his palms resting on the cool tile floor.

"Who stutters now, my slippery friend?" Lord Voldemort inquired, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I-"

"You will do well to keep silent, Lucius," Lord Voldemort snarled. "You have much to answer for. Your actions these past eleven years lead me to believe that I am not as much 'your Lord' as you would wish me to believe."

Lord Voldemort circled him, but Lucius never looked up. The amount of fear he was experiencing prevented him from moving.

"You will be punished," Lord Voldemort softly stated, caressing the back of Lucius' neck. "But now is not the time for such wasteful actions. For your own sake, Lucius, I hope you answer this next question correctly – are you still in possession of my diary?"

Lucius nodded vigorously, relief flooding his muscles. "Yes, my Lord. Your diary is locked securely in Malfoy Manor under the most powerful wards I am capable of creating."

"I am pleased," Lord Voldemort stated, patting him on the head mockingly. The man moved away from him, to the spot where he had revealed himself.

"Are you willing to prove yourself, Lucius?" Lord Voldemort softly questioned, his head tilting to the side. "Are you willing to show your faithfulness? I am in need of servants – competent servants. Do you fit this criteria, Lucius?"

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius assured him. "There are none as faithful as I."

Lord Voldemort smiled – a twisted, sadistic smile. "Prove it, Lucius. Crawl to your Lord and kiss His feet."

Lucius swallowed, his wide eyes never leaving his Lord's countenance. The man bared his teeth, his red eyes narrowing in unforgiveness.

"This is not the time for pride, my friend," Voldemort snarled. "You will do as I say or you will die; there is no middle ground."

Lucius bowed his head, crawling on hands and knees to Voldemort's side. This was part of the game, he tried to assure himself. Do this one…humiliating act, and he and his family would be safe. Lucius reached for the man's boots, only to have them ripped from his grip.

Lord Voldemort laughed harshly, having no pity for his kneeling servant. "Recall what I said, Lucius," Lord Voldemort purred. "I said, 'kiss your Lord's _feet_.'"

In an instant, the boots that had adorned his Lord's feet disappeared, leaving naked, hairy feet in their place. Lucius bit back the urge to give in to tears. "Your pride matters little in my presence," Lord Voldemort continued to taunt from above him. "Show me some loyalty; show me that you still value the old ways."

Hesitantly, Lucius did as he was told. He clasped the bare ankles, moist with sweat, into his hands. With a shuddering breath, he lowered himself further into a prone position, trying and failing not to notice the acrid smell of bare feet. Lucius pressed his lips to the top of each foot, his nose brushing the ankles of each. The wiry hair tickled his bare lip and nostrils, sickening him further. Lord Voldemort looked on above him with a pleased smirk adorning his face. If anyone else had demanded as much from him, Lucius would have killed them. However, Lord Voldemort would accept nothing less. Lucius raised up, thankful that this act was finished, but a bare foot lashed out, smashing into his nose.

Lucius howled and he brought his hands up to his broken nose, blood flowing freely from it. Lord Voldemort laughed cruelly once more. "Red is such a dashing color on you, Lucius," He smirked. "You should wear it more often."

A hand grasped the back of his robes and roughly pulled him into a standing position. Lucius wavered, still holding his shattered nose, tears now starting to fall. Voldemort leered at him in his humiliation. When the man withdrew his wand, Lucius flinched violently.

"Ah-ah," Voldemort taunted. "I was only going to fix your nose, my friend. Of course, if you feel that such mercy is unwarranted…"

"Pleab," Lucius moaned through the flow of blood, some entering his mouth and staining his teeth.

Lord Voldemort smirked once more and violently tapped Lucius' nose with his wand. "_Episkey_."

Bones snapped back together, cartilage repaired itself, and blood ceased to flow. Lucius tried to take a calming breath, but the damage to his pride and ego were complete; Lord Voldemort owned him.

"Kneel once more, Lucius. I rather enjoy the picture you present when at my feet."

Lucius lowered himself to wobbly knees, blood marring his features and originally pristine robes. Voldemort conjured a throne to sit on.

"Now, to business," Voldemort began. "I am pleased that you are here, Lucius. I have heard many tales of your exploits these past few years." Voldemort crossed his leg over his knee, his bare feet continuing to taunt Lucius. "Hosting Harry Potter at your home and the boy still lives?"

Lucius started. "My Lord, I believe that we have a kindred spirit in the boy. He seems prone to the Dark Arts; in fact, I believe he has practiced a ritual if his words this afternoon are true."

"The boy has," Voldemort interrupted. "I was watching. Nothing happens without my notice, Lucius. Luckily for you, I tend to agree with your assessment; the boy will do me more good as a Death Eater than dead. I have had more than enough time to reminisce on my mistakes, Lucius, and the boy was never in any situation to consciously defy me. He was, as I feel, a victim of circumstance."

Lucius bowed his head, relieved with his Lord's logic. Lord Voldemort's opinion was law and after such a humiliating experience, it would not do to be against Voldemort's law. Besides, Dark Wizards were so few to begin with and a boy as powerful as Harry Potter deserved a chance to live up to their potential.

"You correspond with the boy?" Voldemort stated, not really asking at all.

Lucius nodded. "Yes, my Lord. We exchange letters and my son is friends with him. I have tried to get the boy interested in the Dark Arts and it seems that my efforts are working."

"Continue them," Lord Voldemort proclaimed.

"My Lord, if I may?" Receiving a nod, Lucius continued. "I spoke with the boy this summer. The boy grew up in an orphanage, despite having relatives. Harry Potter hated that orphanage and seems to have developed a healthy dislike for Muggles as well."

Lord Voldemort raised his eyebrows, so high that they disappeared into the turban. "That is interesting, Lucius. You have pleased me. Continue as you have, but I expect regular updates. In fact, send me a copy of your correspondence with the boy."

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius whispered.

"To other matters," Lord Voldemort stated, flippantly raising a hand. "Quirinus Quirrell came to me one day in a forest in Albania. The man desired power and willingly lent me his body." Lord Voldemort sneered. "I now share a body with a coward, one who has changed his mind and now fights my presence. He cannot defeat me, of course, but I lack the power in my present state to eliminate him. With the man fighting me, I cannot gather strength; I shall have to find a new host soon."

Lucius felt a shiver run down his spine. "If you require a servant, I offer you all that I am, my Lord – including my body."

Lord Voldemort laughed. "No, Lucius," He said. "I need to remain in Hogwarts. There is an item here that I would like to possess. Unfortunately, it is heavily guarded by Dumbledore and his allies."

"Severus Snape mentioned such an object earlier," Lucius responded, trying to ignore the bruising his knees were currently experiencing. "He believed that Quirinus Quirrell wanted it for his own gain."

Lord Voldemort smirked, examining his fingernails as Lucius fidgeted. "Severus was always a sly one," He said, His eyes snapping to Lucius. "Can we trust ol' Severus? Or has he forever turned away from me?"

"I believe that you can trust him, my Lord," Lucius said. "He is a difficult man to understand, but I know he still practices the Dark Arts in his spare time. The man cares for my son and he knows where our family's loyalties lie."

"With me," Lord Voldemort finished. "I believe you may stand now, Lucius."

Lucius uttered a soft sigh, using his knee to prop himself back up.

"You have pleased your Lord, Lucius," Voldemort said softly, standing to caress the side of Lucius' face. "You have faced your punishment with meekness. Lord Voldemort never forgives, but he does not forget, either. Continue to prove yourself, for you are not the only follower awaiting punishment."

An arm wrapped harshly around Lucius' wrist, drawing the sleeve back in a swift motion.

"But never forget who you belong to, Lucius," Voldemort continued. "Or what you believe in. A storm is brewing out there, my friend. It is time for every man, woman, and child to choose their side."

Lord Voldemort stepped back, a grin marring his features.

"Many believe that my reign is over," Voldemort whispered. "But it has only just begun."

* * *

**Alrighty then. Voldemort sure is a character, isn't he? What could have caused Albus Dumbledore to forego the original plan and to stick Harry in an orphanage?**

**I want to address some reviews because I really appreciate the feedback. **

**guesticus: I am so honored that you feel that way about this story. It is humbling, motivating, and makes me want to truly live up to your expectations. Please, continue to let me know what you think. This story will not be run by reader's comments, but any little bit that can improve my writing will hopefully make the story better. **

**lightning king: He will, and soon: that, I can promise you =b**

**lostfeather1: I've read a lot of stories with that pairing and I'll be honest - I think I could pull it off in a unique way, a way that would suprise _everybody_. However, I still am not sure what pairings I may/may not have. We'll see.**

**Beatrix Hart: Daphne will get more playing time as the story goes along. Patience is a virtue, however. And I've gotten sick of people writing Dumbledore as a horrible man or one who "plays with his pawns"...I mean, c'mon. How unoriginal can you get? If Dumbledore was so horrible, how did he become Supreme Mugwump, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and gain the mass population's affection for, oh, 120 years? (And I know I answered you already in a private message, but I thought I'd answer again because I really appreciated your review =b)**

**Glorilian: Thanks! There are never blacks and whites in life - everything is a shade of grey. This story will have "bad" good guys and "good" bad guys, as you stated. It is going to make reading a bit tough down the line, but isn't that more interesting?**

**SchwarzShifter: Heheh...Lucius thinks himself royalty with that ink. I think Voldemort showed him his place in this chapter though, didn't he? And Dumbledore's a good guy, I promise! He's just too...trusting, especially when he does not understand the whole of a person. Cedric wrapped his arm around Harry this time - that's close to a hug, right?! **

**Nicole: I wish you had an account because I wanted to write you back so badly. Everything I said about guesticus applies to you as well. Oh, and your challenge...boy oh boy, I know exactly what you mean. So many stories have Harry as a badass and then he just gets...tame in comparison to Voldemort. And guess what? I have a plan. I don't plan much, but I do plan that. And I will succeed. I promise. I will not tell you how right now, because where would the fun be in that? But keep reading. It hurts me because I'm sitting here grinning, at a loss of what to say. I really appreciated your review. **

**Love you guys. I started writing at 1 a.m. after I got back from the gym and I'm posting this at 6:39 a.m. I think it's time for sleep, huh? **

**Lemme know if you see any mistakes. I noticed today that I had been spelling Quirrell's name wrong. I'll correct that and whatever else tomorrow.**

**Cheers,**

**Brigade**


	10. What Better Way?

**_AN: Hi! Sorry this took so long. School, you know? It's a bitch sometimes. The biggest challenge (and therefore time consumer) with this chapter is that it is very...transitional. It may not really read like it, but trust me, it is. The next one probably will be, too. I changed several things here, tried different things. Only Lucius' letter, Harry in his bed, and one other thing were originally planned here. I like it though._**

**_How about I stop rambling and let you read, huh?_**

* * *

**Chapter 10: What Better Way?**

_D__ear Harry,_

_ I must apologize for not meeting with you before I left; indeed, I departed from Hogwarts without meeting Draco. Urgent matters of my own discrepancy were in need of attention, but that matters little in the grand scheme of things. Professor Quirrell and I had a somewhat pleasant chat in his office over a cup of tea. The man stutters something fierce, yes, and he seems barely competent as an instructor, but I was not able to uncover any nefarious plans, torture chambers, or indeed anything abnormal at all. It seems our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is in fact a genial soul. I do hope this soothes your worries._

_ Speaking of Dark Arts…my, my, Harry – if your words were true, I am indeed proud of you. It is hard to put fear and prejudice aside to see things as they really are. Ritualism is a branch of magic that lay things out in simple terms: supply the items listed in order to earn the reward. Rituals do not change, they do not compel – they simply are. Many witches and wizards point to the power of rituals and claim that it must be evil. For that reason, they list it as Dark. But Harry, how can something so simple be considered evil? The choice to follow through on a ritual is solely in the hands of the witch or wizard. They alone decide if the sacrifices of a ritual are "too much." Once again, I am overjoyed that you realize this distinction. With all of that said, might I inquire as to which ritual you chose to practice? I must admit that I am quite curious and wish to be of aid if you decide to continue your journey. _

_ Once again, I must apologize as I am forced to end our correspondence short; please relay my regrets to Draco and assure him that I shall meet with him soon. As for you, Harry, continue to study hard, both with coursework and independent studies; I will be here if you require my services._

_Yours in friendship,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

Harry lowered the letter, trying hard not to scowl. Just because Lucius had not discovered anything wrong with Quirrell did not mean that he was wrong; indeed, if anything, the fact that Lucius was not able to discover anything heightened Harry's suspicions.

"Is that from Father?" Draco questioned frankly. It was a good thing that Lucius had offered his son an apology in the letter, Harry thought. Draco had not taken being stood up by his own father very well. The boy had ranted and raved all night about it in the Common Room, sending most of the Slytherins to their dorms.

"Yep," Harry affirmed. "He says he is sorry and that urgent matters needed attending."

"Give me that," Draco snapped, snatching at the letter in Harry's hand. "If he believes anything is more urgent than me, he's sadly mistaken," Draco muttered.

"Bloody hell, Draco!" Harry exclaimed, jerking the letter out of the boy's grasp. "This letter was sent to me, you know!"

"Did daddy hurt your feelings, Draco?" Grinned Theo from across the table.

The boys were all in the library to write an essay for Professor McGonagall's class. The essay greatly annoyed Harry because he could already "Transfigure inanimate objects to include designs" well enough on his own, thank you very much. Wandlessly, as well.

'_Stupid class_,' Harry shook his head, looking down balefully at the book lying on the table.

"Shut it Theo," Draco growled. "At least I have a father who does more than yell at me."

Theo smirked at the boy, but said nothing else. Draco looked back expectantly at Harry, silently demanding the letter.

Harry sighed. It was better to avoid getting Draco upset if only for his own sake. Harry grabbed his wand and split the letter in two. "Here," He said holding out part of the letter to Draco. "This is the part that concerns you."

"What else would he have to say?" Draco asked, not really expecting an answer if the way he was scouring his portion of the letter was any indication. Harry shrugged.

"He was telling me about his meeting with Quirrell," said Harry. "He basically said that I was wrong and that Quirrell really is the stuttering idiot that he acts like."

Draco looked up, staring at him. Blaise and Theo were also looking at him, abandoning their own studies. "If father said that, then he's right," Draco said. "Quirrell is an idiot; I don't know why you think otherwise."

Harry scoffed. "Because no one acts like that in reality," He argued. "Besides, I already told you why I am wary of him. The man is _weird_. Your father is wrong, I think."

"Not possible," Draco interrupted. "He would not be wrong about something like that."

Harry rolled his eyes. "He made a mistake, then."

"He would not make one this big," Draco defended insistently. Blaise and Theo looked at each other in amusement across the table.

"You cannot know that for sure, Draco."

"Of course I can; I'm his son."

"Alright, boys," Theo snickered. "Let's settle down before we draw heads, okay?"

"Mr. Malfoy can make mistakes, Draco," Blaise added, his attention long since removed from his book. "It's not like he's perfect or anything."

"He's close enough to," Draco sneered back at him.

"Your father's a good man, we get it – but back to the thing at hand," Harry stated wearily. "I don't trust Quirrell. What should I do about it?"

"Trail him," Blaise supplied. "If you can get him alone, he will have no one to play that silly role for."

Draco scoffed. "Or you could take my father's word for it like a reasonable person."

"Not happening," Harry stated dryly. "Besides, following him sounds fun. It would give me a chance to make my own judgment, and that is always the better option, isn't it?"

Theo nodded in agreement. "When are you going to do it?" He eagerly inquired.

Harry shrugged, tapping his quill rapidly against the side of the table. "Whenever, I guess. Any time he starts acting weird."

"Oh, well there's your problem, Harry," Theo scolded, waving his quill in mock disappointment. "The man is always weird."

* * *

Harry shut the curtains around his bed, taking a minute to stretch luxuriously on the downy covers. After grinding his way through an essay for Snape, on top of finishing that blasted essay for McGonagall – he had earned this moment of relaxation, thank you. The one thing he had brought with him into the curtained bed, however, was _Ritualism: Borne of Sacrifice, Treasured for Eternity_. The effects of his previous ritual had worn off several days ago, leaving him itching to try another, especially since he was back to wearing his glasses. He had woken up this morning to his previous poor eyesight. Harry flipped open his book, trying to find something that might help fix his eyesight permanently.

There were a few that might work. There was a ritual to change the shape of facial features and if he recalled correctly, poor eyesight was caused from the eye being misshapen. Still, Harry grimaced, that did not seem to be an ideal fix.

Smell enhanced sight…intriguing, but no. If Harry was reading that correctly, the Ritual of Serpentine Senses would bolster his eyesight by adding smell to his sense of sight, producing unique colors and…things. Perhaps it would even help with depth perception, Harry thought, but it would not actually fix his eyesight. A perfect fix, however, was on the next page.

_The Ritual of Physical Potential_

_The Ritual of Physical Potential unlocks the unachieved potential of a participant's body, curing physical ailments as well as assuring the participant's full physical growth. Height, muscular strength, sight, hearing, smell, and skeletal strength are all optimized to the full potential of an individual. However, the "potential" of the participant decreases as they age past adolescence. For optimal results, the participant of this ritual should neither be of magical age nor inheritance. The results of this ritual are permanent, and therefore the sacrifice of this ritual is costly._

_The ritual requires four significant sacrifices, one at each pinnacle of a Delta. Each of these sacrifices which will be named and described below signifies a different physical attribute that the practitioner seeks. The Delta is a magically strong symbol in ritualism, possessing both three vertices and three sides, both increasing the flow of magical energy. In this ritual, the Delta should be drawn on soil with one of the sacrifices (again, they shall be named below) at a distance of three by three feet for each side. Three lines from each vertex shall then be drawn to form another, smaller Delta in which the practitioner shall kneel. This Delta's sides shall be three feet in length. _

_The power in this ritual comes from its sacrifices. The pair of Deltas help to create a steady flow of magical power from its sacrifices to the practitioner. These sacrifices all come from magical creatures and each represent a physical trait that will be transferred to the practitioner to unlock their own potential. First, the venom of a Runespoor shall take up the lower-left vertex of the larger Delta. For a serpent to inject its venom into its prey, the serpent must possess physical agility and durability. In this ritual, the Runespoor's venom works to enhance the agility and skeletal structure of the practitioner._

_The next sacrifice, with which the Deltas and lines connecting them shall be drawn, is the detached horn of a Unicorn._

Harry felt his eyes go wide. The horn of a fucking Unicorn? How was he supposed to catch one, let alone dehorn it? By the way, wasn't that sacrilege? Harry knew the blood of a unicorn was cursed – was the horn cursed as well? Harry felt morally that he was probably missing out a bit on the "It's a Unicorn! Don't hurt it!" objection, but the Unicorn would still live, right? He would not be killing it, necessarily. And if the Unicorn was going to live, were his own desires important enough to sacrifice that Unicorn's horn?

Harry shook his head and continued reading:

_The horn of the Unicorn represents, not only in this ritual but most magical practices, strength, speed, and purity. In this ritual, the horn largely is involved in the "optimization" of physical traits and enhanced speed. Sight, hearing, smell, and touch are all affected and altered in this ritual through the magic from the horn of the Unicorn. _

_The most severe sacrifice of this ritual is the life of a centaur. The centaur must be tied down on the pinnacle of the Delta to be sacrificed as magic flows from it. This sacrifice has been largely experimented with in the past. Several magical creatures could be substituted for the life of a centaur, but as of the release of this book, no alternatives have been found to the sacrificing of a life._

Harry blinked. He read that particular passage a second time. '_Well that is certainly a step up_,' He thought. Killing did not necessarily put him off, but to do so for such selfish reasons tickled the sides of his morality.

Harry recalled in a flash the letter he had received from Lucius earlier and fought the urge to roll his eyes. '_That bastard's been pushing me to try something like this_,' Harry realized. Of all the underhanded things to do – and this was nothing new, either. The man had acted like this since first meeting him.

Harry found himself smiling at the irony. The thing was that Harry needed no push. He had realized after the first ritual that this type of magic was too interesting to leave alone. He could handle it, Harry was sure, but this ritual's sacrifices…was he ready to _kill_ for it?

But then again, if this ritual did what it said it would – if this ritual made sure he would grow taller, stronger, faster, _better_ than everyone around him – why would he discount it so quickly? What price was one life for the plans he held?

There was no one to discuss this with, either. Draco would say to do it, obviously, but Harry was not sure if Draco himself would willingly do it. He did not want Lucius to know that he had enacted a ritual of this caliber. Snape, maybe? Lucius had mentioned him several times as trustworthy and even from Harry's own perspective the Potions Professor seemed fair. The question, though, was if the man would rat him out to Professor Dumbledore. Harry knew without a doubt that Dumbledore would highly disapprove.

'_I'm getting ahead of myself_,' Harry thought with a sigh, leaning back into the pillows to contemplate in comfort. '_Can I in good conscious slay a centaur to ensure my own growth_?'

'_I don't know_,' Harry realized. Sure, he had had a hand in killing that woman to enact revenge on Mike, but that was different. He did that for revenge. He did that from hatred. He had no hate for centaurs. He had no feeling of revenge against them. If Harry were to undergo this ritual, he would be killing for his own personal gain. Harry was not sure he was ready for that, even if the attributes he would inherit were so alluring.

'_Still_,' Harry paused, sighing wistfully. 'The fact that I have thought this long on the subject proves that I'm not completely opposed to it. Who would turn down an opportunity to improve? Who would be so stupid? Harry cocked his head and continued reading:

_The centaur represents the physical traits of strength, height, and power. In this ritual, the centaur's life bolsters that of the practitioner, increasing their durability while enhancing height and strength. The fourth sacrifice, the blood of the practitioner, must coat (or in the case of the Runespoor's venom, mix) the physical sacrifices and the blood must be removed from the body with the horn of the unicorn. The practitioner should slice each of their palms…_

'_That's enough of that,'_ Harry thought. Reading on at this point was doing him no good. Was he willing to undergo this ritual? Possibly. However, he needed help if he wanted to do it. Where would he get a unicorn horn? How was he to restrain a centaur?

'_I'll figure it out tomorrow_,' Harry decided, ripping the curtains open to head to dinner. '_But damn, wouldn't growing taller and stronger than everybody be awesome?_'

* * *

"Have you contacted our mutual friend, Lucius?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"And what did he have to say, might I ask?"

Lucius swallowed delicately. He was once again kneeling on the marbled floor of his Lord's quarters, present to present his updated report. Lord Voldemort once again sat in front of him on his conjured, black throne. The only problem was…what update was there?

"My Lord," Lucius began. "Severus is a severely guarded man. He is disinterested in talking about himself and his accomplishments. Asking outright for his loyalties would result in insults and ridicule – "

"Neither of which you are willing to endure, I'm well aware, Lucius," Voldemort waved his hand. "I did not ask for excuses. I asked what he had to say."

Lucius ground his teeth for a moment. "Severus remained as vague as possible. However, he did hint at continued practice of the Dark Arts as well as experimentation with his darker potions. From what I can decipher, he has not turned against you. He sought safety with Dumbledore like a coward, yes, but he does not necessarily follow the man."

Voldemort hummed, nodding in contemplation. It is time to test him then, Voldemort decided. "However, I cannot have him betraying my location nor my existence to Dumbledore."

Voldemort rose to his feet and began to pace, something Lucius had rarely seen him do. When his Lord paced…things happened. Plans formed quickly. A pacing Voldemort was never good news for his opponents.

Voldemort reached out to softly touch the leathery top of a chair by the sitting area, his grip tightening sharply as red eyes snapped to Lucius.

"I recall you saying that Severus is suspicious of Quirrell," Voldemort stated, his voice steady and assured. Lucius only nodded in reply. A pleased grin marred Quirrell's features as Voldemort's canines revealed themselves.

"Then what better way is there to test a follower than in person?" Voldemort questioned in a whisper. "I have a job for you, Lucius," Voldemort continued with a laugh, patting the back of the chair merrily. "I need you to cause a distraction for the teachers somewhere in the castle during dinner. This diversion needs to be done in a manner that allows Severus to suspect me."

"Of course, my Lord," Lucius nodded deeply. "Whatever you wish."

Voldemort smiled predatorily. "Here's what you will do…"

* * *

"Pass the potatoes, Harry," Blaise said, holding out a fork to point to the dish being discussed. Harry swallowed his mouthful of chicken before reaching over to grab the plate, handing it to the boy.

"Hey, I wanted that!" Cedric whined playfully from Harry's side, nudging him in the ribs. Draco sat on the other side, whole fully distracted by his own plate of delicacies. Daphne Greengrass was opposite him, talking cheerfully with Theo. The boy was making wild gestures with his dining utensils, making him look a lot like an idiot, Harry thought.

"Then go get it, Ced," Harry retorted, smirking at the boy. Cedric had sat with his year mates for a while before crossing over to the Slytherin table to sit with him. Harry thought it was a little bizarre how often Cedric sat with them, but he enjoyed his company nonetheless.

"So what is being a Hufflepuff like?" Greengrass questioned, turning from Theo as the boy had a knife sticking out from his lips.

Cedric shrugged, a pleasant smile on his face. "There's a lot of yellow everywhere," He joked. "But, you know, we go to class and stuff, eat here like the rest of the students. What did you expect, exactly?"

Greengrass tilted her head. "I figured there was a bit more to you lot than meets the eye. Is that true?"

Cedric grinned. "Well, I'm wearing robes so I hope there's a bit more of me than 'meets the eye.'"

The boys all laughed and Daphne blushed as the doors to the Great Hall burst open, admitting a flustered Argus Filch, the man's mangy cat trailing behind him.

"There's some big bloody spiders down in the dungeons!" Filch exclaimed harshly. "The blasted vermin almost bit me!"

Harry swiveled his head from the caretaker to look at the professors. Dumbledore was beginning to rise, his face quickly losing its cheerfulness. Snape's gaze had snapped to Quirrell. The Defense Professor was shiftily looking around the Great Hall, shaking even more than usual.

"Prefects," Dumbledore's voice commanded, splitting through the growing whispers around them. "Please lead your Houses to the designated security rooms as the Professors take care of this issue. Professors, if you will all follow me, please."

The Professors all took the exit normally reserved for Professor Snape, but Harry noticed one that was not amongst them.

"Quirrell is going the wrong way," Harry pointed quickly over the crowd. Indeed, the man had shifted his way through the crowd to take the door that in no way led to the dungeons. What was interesting, however, was the fact that Professor Snape was eying the man's exit as sharply as Harry himself was.

"Follow him, then," Blaise said, repeating his earlier sentiment. Harry nodded. "Cover for me?" He questioned.

"Obviously, Potter," Theo quipped. "Go!"

Harry turned without a backwards glance. After a few steps, however, he noticed he was not alone.

"I guess you two are coming as well?" Harry grinned.

Cedric nodded. "Looks like fun," He murmured, shifting himself deftly through the growing crowd of people.

Harry shifted his gaze to Draco. The boy had his eyebrows raised, a small smirk on his face.

"Do you think I'd miss the chance to say I told you so?" Draco said superiorly. "Besides, I am not one to sit around and wait for others."

Harry let out a small laugh as he rolled his eyes. "Of course, Sir Draco," Harry murmured. "I would never leave you out of my plans."

Cedric shoved Harry's shoulder, drawing his attention. "Let's go," Cedric urged. "Before we lose him."

The three boys dodged the Ravenclaw table, steering themselves to the door Professor Quirrell had exited from. Once they reached the hall, only the hem of Quirrell's robes were visible as the man hurriedly turned a corner.

"He's heading for the Grand Staircase," Harry cried, grabbing a fistful of robes and starting to jog after the man. "Why is he going away from the dungeons?"

Draco panted to catch up to him. "Because he's a bloody coward, Harry," Draco huffed, stumbling slightly on the hem of his own robes. "He wouldn't even know how to incapacitate a spider."

"I don't think so," Cedric whispered. "There's something weirder to it than that going on, here."

Harry peeked around the corner of the hallway. Professor Quirrell was taking stairs two at a time, the staircases still for the Defense Professor. Quirrell slowed only as he reached the third floor landing, stopping to look around. Harry stifled a gasp when the man turned; Harry's scar seared with heat, his eyes squinting from the pain. Harry ignored the whispered concerns from either side of him in favor of studying the Professor. Red eyes swept across the landing with such severity that Harry had never seen from the man.

"Look at him," Harry urged in a whisper, motioning with his hand.

"Look at who?" A voice behind him asked.

The three boys swiveled around to face another boy with red hair and a shocking amount of freckles. Harry recognized him as a classmate.

"None of your business, Weasley," Draco sneered, as Cedric frowned.

"I wasn't talking to you, Malfoy," Weasley muttered, his eyes fixing on Harry. "What are you lot doing out here, anyway?"

"We're just looking around," Cedric supplied. "How about you?"

"Nobody cares about what you are up to, Weasley," Draco intervened before the red-head could respond.

Weasley's face began to gain color. "And nobody cares what a git like you has to say," Weasley retorted.

Draco snarled. "I ought to teach you what happens when you backtalk your superiors, blood traitor – "

"Enough, Draco," Harry said softly, holding a hand out to restrain his year mate as he nodded in a placating gesture to Cedric. The fourth-year boy was looking at Draco in outrage.

"We were trailing Professor Quirrell, Weasley – "

"Ron," the boy supplied.

"Ron, then," Harry acknowledged, now trying his hardest to ignore Draco tugging at his robe sleeve. "We saw Quirrell go in the opposite direction of the rest of the professors and wanted to know what he was up to."

"The man seems a bit off his rocker," Ron snorted. "Maybe the man thought he was going the right way."

Harry smirked. "Maybe."

"And maybe a certain Professor would like a better explanation as to why his students are not in their proper places," A silky voice said from Harry's right. Professor Snape stood looking at them all, his arms folded.

"The spiders are in the dungeon, Professor," Harry intervened before Draco could say something stupid. Cedric nodded in agreement while Ron gaped at the Professor.

Professor Snape arched an eyebrow. "But according to Professor Dumbledore's instructions, you were not to go to your dorm room; instead, you were to follow your Prefects to the school's security rooms."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but halted as the Potions Professor raised his other eyebrow.

"Yes sir," Harry said. "I apologize."

"Indeed," Professor Snape drawled. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, we shall speak more on this at a later time. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory – five points from each of your Houses."

Cedric groaned as Ron sputtered indignantly. "But Professor, I – "

"Make that ten," Snape said, a not so pleasant smile adorning his face. "Would you like to make that twenty, Weasley?"

Ron's ears flushed red to match his face, but the boy shook his head.

"Off you go then," Professor Snape urged, his eyes sliding to focus on Harry. "The four of you."

Harry gritted his teeth, taking one last look at the Grand Staircase. Professor Quirrell had disappeared.

"Nice talking with you, Ron," Harry managed, nodding to the boy. "And Cedric, I guess we'll talk tomorrow."

"Sure thing," Cedric said, eyeing Professor Snape warily. With one fleeting glance, the Hufflepuff set out to rejoin his classmates.

"C'mon, Draco," Harry sighed, his hand rubbing his scalp fiercely. "Let's go find Sykes."

Professor Snape watched them leave, shooting a fleeting sneer to Weasley. As the boys all left, he softly swore. Quirrell had gotten out of sight and the mischievous brats had given the man a sizeable head start. Professor Snape swiftly moved up the flights of stairs, drawing his wand; he knew exactly where Quirrell was headed. If the man was actually after the Philosopher's Stone, even with such a large lead, Snape was confident he could stop him.

The third floor was dark. Only a few torches lit the corridor – it was not being used, after all. Severus swiftly glided down the corridor. The door that was containing Hagrid's monstrosity was at the end.

An opened door and violent arm impeded his progress, however.

The arm launched out from the doorway, wrapping itself harshly around Severus' neck. Fingernails scraped painfully at the side of his collar bone, drawing small droplets of blood and a gasp from the Potions Professor. Severus tried to raise his wand on the man, but the arm heaved him roughly backwards through the doorway, slamming him against the stone wall. Severus' head crunched into the stone, igniting black spots to swim in his vision. The door slammed shut and his old Mark seared to life.

"Hello, Severus," A voice whispered, inches away from his right ear.

For the first time in nearly ten years, Severus Snape felt terror.

* * *

"I told you that man was up to something – you saw his face!" Harry cried. Draco had been quiet since re-entering their dorm room. Instead of finding Sykes as Professor Snape had asked, the Prefect had found them. Theo and Blaise were hungry for details, so Harry had filled them in once they were back within the privacy of their dorm. Even Crabbe and Goyle were listening attentively, something Harry was surprised they were capable of doing.

Draco seemed puzzled, as if he were trying to find a scenario in which both his father and Harry could be right. The boy was scribbling on a piece of parchment and ignoring Harry's words – until now.

"So he's faking the stutter – so what," Draco spoke, looking up from his parchment. "It doesn't mean he's up to anything suspicious. Maybe he hates attention. Maybe he has social problems. I really don't care, to be honest, so if you all will excuse me, I'm going to bed."

Draco stood, and left for the restroom without a backwards glance. Harry huffed silently. He was right – he was sure of it. Theo and Blaise seemed to agree with him, but Harry still had no clue what the man was actually doing.

Quirrell was on the third floor, the one Dumbledore had said was forbidden. Was there something in that corridor? What could it possibly be?

Harry contemplated the situation as he readied himself for bed as well. He took a quick shower and bid his year mates goodnight before setting his glasses on the dresser beside his bed and wrenching the curtains open.

Harry gasped.

A silvery, white horn, bathed and shining in metallic blood rested on a black pillow in the center of his bed. A note was pierced by the horn, the silvery blood seeping in and thoroughly staining the yellowed parchment. Harry knew what this was – there could be no mistaking it. This was a unicorn horn.

'_But who would do this? Who could know?_' Harry panicked. He reached out with a shaky hand to retrieve the parchment. Red ink taunted his blurred vision:

_For whenever you are ready._

_Enjoy._

* * *

_**Voldemort's EVERYWHERE, isn't he? Remember, he's not even at full power right now. Mentally, he can outclass Quirrell, but Voldemort is primarily in the recesses of the man's mind. When he takes control, though...damn, he gets things done.**_

_**What did you think of Ron? A short cameo for our red-haired fellow, but I think I portrayed him fairly well. A bit informal, even with strangers, snappy and emotional at Draco and Professor Snape...**_

_**Speaking of Professor Snape...do you want me to cover the...discussion he and Voldemort have? I can do it with or without, honestly - basically do you want to know upfront where those two stand or would you like a bit of mystery?**_

_**Let me know what you think of the chapter, as always. You guys are awesome with that. I will warn you that I made notes like crazy while writing this chapter and I may have forgotten to delete a few. Let me know if you see them, and I'll get them out a bit later.**_

_**I'm excited. Not long now.**_

_**Until we meet again,**_

_**Brigade**_


	11. Nothing Good on a Monday

**Alrighty! I posted this chapter before going off to the gym and now I'm back to set this chapter up. Now, it's slightly shorter than normal but it is really only two scenes, both of which are very important. The majority of you decided that I should keep the...conversation between Voldemort and Severus Snape a secret. I have done exactly that; there are some obvious things that "went down," but as you will see in this chapter, exactly how much Severus is trusted/knows is still in question.**

**Oh, and did anything secret get discussed? Why, how would I know? I - well, obviously I _know_, but that's not the p - you know what? Shut up. I'm trying to be coy.**

**Anyway, go ahead and enjoy the chapter. I'll have some extra commentary at the end.**

**I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter 11: Nothing good on a Monday**

"Silence," Professor Snape drawled, using one hand to elegantly lean on his desk. Of course, there was no reason to say such since none of the first years felt the need to irritate Professor Snape on a Monday. Harry's eyes met Professor Snape's as the wizard motioned to a desk on the left side of the room. Harry ducked his head and headed over to the desk, setting his bag onto the table. Soon after, Daphne Greengrass joined him with a small smile.

"Hey, Harry," Daphne whispered, careful not to draw Snape's attention. The girl sat her bag down next to her chair and retrieved her potion's kit.

Harry nodded swiftly to her with a small smile, keeping his eyes on Professor Snape. The man…was he limping? This was the first time he had really seen his Head of House since last week when the man had prevented him from trailing Quirrell. The man had not been limping then, so what could have caused it?

Ron Weasley grinned at him from across the room. Harry sent the boy a small smirk in return. Honestly, the boy was not that bad – though he would never say such around Draco. Apparently the Malfoys had some kind of grudge against the Weasleys; it honestly did not matter that much to Harry, but the rift did cause him some problems in talking with Ron. Harry knew that if he ever spent sizable time with the other boy, Draco would really tear into him, something he was not inclined to suffer through.

Ron, though – the boy was a bit loud, a bit crude, but he was friendly enough, Harry thought. The boy obviously wasn't that close to his Gryffindor yearmates; the Irish kid and black boy were always together and that sniveling mess Longbottom…yikes. Harry could understand where Ron was at – he either had to befriend Longbottom or force his way in between the other two Gryffindors. Instead, Ron was branching out. That took courage, and Harry was not the type to turn someone away for actually bettering themselves.

"Today, I have a…surprise for you all," Professor Snape began smoothly as everyone was seated, his voice mocking as he eyed Longbottom at the back of the class. "I would like to gauge how truly talented a select few of you are. For the rest," Professor Snape scoffed, "if you destroy this classroom, your lives may become rather…bleak."

Professor Snape was once again leaning against the sturdy desk at the front of the classroom. With one hand, the professor withdrew a vial from the depths of his robes, containing a poisonous-looking blue liquid.

"Can anyone tell me what this is?" The Professor whispered, sharp black eyes surveying the classroom. Harry looked over at Draco who sat at the desk next to him. Draco's eyebrows were tugging together, a frown on his face. '_Huh_,' Harry thought. '_Draco doesn't even know – that's new._'

Granger – that damn prissy girl – had a fist firmly in the air and was on the verge of bouncing out of her seat. Harry nudged Daphne and pointed to the girl, rolling his eyes. Daphne quickly covered her mouth, laughter etched into the creases of her eyes.

"Alright, Granger. Always so quick to prove your worth," Snape drolly said, disparaging eyes cast down at the girl. "What is this substance and what is it used for in potion-making?"

"It is Runespoor's venom," The girl quickly stated, her curly hair bouncing as she nodded. The girl either had missed Professor Snape's slight or was just not acknowledging it. "Runespoor's venom is identified by its slight luminescence in the dark. It is obviously used as a toxin, but can be used in potions to counteract the…"

Harry had stopped listening. Instead, he was looking intently at the little vial in Professor Snape's hand. The man was looking back at him, his eyebrows slightly raised in question. Harry met his Professor's eyes and shook his head slightly.

"Why does Granger always feel she has to answer every question?" Daphne asked from beside him. "While it's funny, it's also rather annoying, don't you think?"

Harry shrugged, his mind racing. "Dunno. I reckon it's all she's good at." In truth, he could not care less about Granger. What the _fuck_ was Snape up to? Last week had certainly been an adventure – one starting with a ritual and ending with a bloodied unicorn horn. And now - on a bloody Monday, at that – this.

Was Snape behind it all? Harry recalled Lucius saying that the two men were friends. Was this a...what? A plot to turn him Dark or something? But what was Dark, anyway?

'_If the Ministry cannot regulate it, it is Dark_,' Harry remembered Lucius saying. Rituals fell into that category, right? So he was already practicing Dark Magic; in fact, in another of Lucius' books, he was reading up on Dark Spells as well.

'_But they haven't forced me into this_,' Harry thought, puzzling him even further. '_So I really have no clue of their motive. What I do know, however, is that Snape isn't totally with Dumbledore. If he was, he would not be…_'

'_Oh, __**fuck**_,' Harry breathed, dropping his quill suddenly. '_They __**know**__. They know what I'm doing and they're…helping me?_' Harry's head felt weightless, as though the implications of such thoughts were waiting to hit him all at once. '_What the hell is their motive_?'

"Enough, Miss Granger," Professor Snape interrupted. The girl apparently had been busy spewing chapters about the poisonous substance. "You cannot just give a simple answer, can you? We do need time to _brew_, after all."

The bushy haired girl shrunk in her seat as snickers made their rounds around the classroom. Harry found himself eyeing the vial of venom once more. His head hurt.

"What you need to know," Professor Snape drawled. "Is that this venom is volatile, potent, and needs to be measured and used _precisely_. Today, we are making a weakened Fossilization Potion. This potion, when poured onto a substance or item, will change the structure of the item to strengthen it. The list of ingredients is on the board." Professor Snape waved his wand and the instructions appeared. "Also, you will find the Runespoor's venom inside the storage cupboard. Be sure not to get the venom on your skin; it its base form, the venom dehydrates its surroundings on contact."

Professor Snape eyed the Gryffindor side of the room. "Such a sensation is _not_ pleasant, I assure you. Begin."

"I'll get the ingredients," Harry quickly stated before Daphne could say anything. "You prepare the cauldron."

Harry leaped up from his seat, making his way to the storage cupboard right behind Blaise. Blaise nudged him with his elbow as the two entered the cupboard.

"I think Snape is actually trying to kill Longbottom," Blaise said conversationally, picking up a vial of the bluish venom. Harry grinned shakily, feeling quite off balance.

"Let me see that, won't you?" Harry murmured, reaching out to grasp the vial. Blaise shrugged and handed it over before turning to grab another. Harry looked down at the liquid glistening inside the crystal vial. It was swirling slightly, even as he held the vial still. Blaise patted him on the shoulder before ducking out of the cupboard. Harry stealthily stuck the vial in his robes pocket before reaching for another vial, praying that there would be enough vials that no one would notice.

He had to take it. Even if he was not ready to actually do the ritual, when would he get another chance to get Runespoor's venom? Even if Lucius and Professor Snape were scheming, getting the venom still suited him. Harry snatched up some other ingredients needed for the potion before rejoining Daphne with a smile.

The potion was nearing its final stages, and Snape was staring at him again. Honestly, he had been doing it the entire class period. Harry had resolved not to acknowledge the man. If Professor Snape suspected something, well, he wasn't saying anything about it. Besides, after Harry's realization earlier, he supposed that the two of them needed to chat anyway.

Daphne liked to gossip, it seemed. He had not spent that much time around the girl, but he was learning quite a few things from her – unimportant things – but things nonetheless. Talking about such insignificant topics was a nice break from the spinning gears in his head, so Harry humored her.

"Pansy really does not like you," The girl said suddenly, stirring their potion. Harry raised his eyebrows, but wasn't really surprised by that.

"The filthy halfblood that I am," He scoffed. "Do you know why?" He asked, pausing from cutting up ingredients.

"Well, she has always liked Draco," Daphne smiled. "I'd guess that has something to do with it."

"What," Harry said blankly, waving his knife. "Me hanging out with him?"

Daphne nodded, grinning. "That and the fact he'd rather listen to you and the other boys than her."

Harry stared off for a bit before humming in acknowledgement, but inwardly he could only sneer. Pansy was a brat – there was no other way to put it. So, she had a crush or something on Draco? He could care less, to be honest. But the girl was bloody annoying and was not going to stop being that way until Draco rebuked her.

Harry, tenderly, lifted the vial of venom and measured the amount that would be needed in the potion. Harry waited for Daphne to finish stirring before pouring the venom in, turning the warm green-colored potion an unforgiving grey.

Professor Snape swooped in, looking over the tops of their heads. "Good," He whispered, sending a chill down Harry's spine. The man swiftly moved on, leaving Harry to ponder.

Longbottom, with the help of Granger, managed not to kill himself as Blaise had suggested. Daphne was alight with happiness beside him; their potion had come out as it should and she was swimming with pride. It honestly made Harry a bit amused; nothing, _nothing _would make him act as she currently was.

"We managed to avoid a catastrophe," Professor Snape announced. "For a Monday, that is acceptable. Dismissed."

Chairs scuffed the floor and low conversations began around him, but Harry took his time collecting his things. There was nothing to rush for; after all, the conversation he desired was right in front of him.

"Bloody awful class today, wasn't it?" Ron groaned, walking from the other side of the lab to speak with him. Harry shrugged casually.

"It was alright," Harry said. "No one messed up terribly. I'd wager that it was one of the better classes we'll have, personally."

Ron scowled. "Yeah, well Snape's a git. He gave us no marks for today."

Harry smirked. "Your cauldron was frothing, mate. Either a potion's right or it's not."

Harry glanced around the lab. Most of the students were filing out of the lab, but Draco stood near the door, watching him with an unimpressed air. Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Look, Ron," began Harry. "I need to talk to Professor Snape about a few things. I catch up with you later, okay?"

Ron nodded eagerly. "I haven't even introduced you to my brothers," He said. "The twins are a hassle, I tell you."

"I look forward to it," Harry smiled. "Until later, then."

Ron beamed. "Bye, mate."

Ron walked out of the class, but not before throwing Draco a superior look. Draco countered with a sneer and a look directed at Harry that clearly said, "Really?"

Harry held his hands up helplessly before waving Draco off. "Later," Harry mouthed.

Draco crossed his arms, shaking his head before opening the door and departing for the Great Hall.

'He gets his feeling hurt way to easily,' Harry sighed. At least the room was empty now.

Speak of the devil.

"Mr. Potter?" Professor Snape questioned. Harry turned around to look at the man. He was sitting behind his desk, a sharp glint in his eye. "Is there a problem?"

Harry shook his head. "I was only concerned about your leg, Professor," Harry said sympathetically. "That was quite a limp you had today."

Professor Snape waved him off. "My leg is fine, Potter. I should be walking regularly by the end of the week. How did you find today's lesson? I do hope you…found merit in it."

Harry crossed his arms. "The potion was fine," He said. "I would probably enjoy something more challenging, though. I did well enough, I hope?"

Professor Snape raised his eyebrows, the corner of his lip twitching slightly. "You performed quite well, Mr. Potter," Snape replied softly. "In fact, you performed exactly as I had expected."

Harry ignored the flicker of anger licking at his intestines. Clearly Snape was not going to bring the topic up. That left one person to finish the job. "What are you and Lucius up to?" Harry asked bluntly.

Snape laughed. It was certainly not a pleasant laugh. Instead, it was mocking, sending jolts of rage up Harry's spine. "Quite a list of things, Potter. Mr. Malfoy heads the Board of Governors, contributes in the Wizengamot, and has a wife and child to concern himself with. I, as you well know," Professor Snape smirked tauntingly. "Teach. I also experiment in my lab during my spare time. Aside from that – "

"Pertaining to me," Harry intervened, fuming. This bastard had the audacity to _toy_ with him? "I know both of you are watching me, and I think there's more to it, don't you?"

"Potter," Professor Snape sneered. "Surely you are not so arrogant to believe everyone cares about you? My, my…such ostentation ought to be punished."

Harry bit back a growl, approaching Snape's desk with aggression. He slammed his bag down onto the desk, spilling the contents of Snape's ink bottle. Harry leaned in as the man snarled.

"I don't like games, Professor," Harry said. "I don't have the patience for them. Punish me if you want, but you _will_ answer my questions."

Professor Snape's eyes veiled over, blackness becoming even darker. "Careful, Potter," Snape said softly, barely a whisper. "You may not like the answers you find."

Harry ignored him. "We both know a certain ingredient today was meant to be there for a reason. What was the reason?"

Professor Snape stared at him for a moment in silence. Harry became aware that his breathing was coming in harsh bursts and his forehead ached from the crinkle in his brows.

Slowly, Professor Snape stood, motioning to the school bag on his desk. "Simply for that reason, Mr. Potter. A good afternoon to you."

Professor Snape walked around his desk, heading for the door to his office. He spared no backwards glance.

Harry stared with incredulity. That _bastard_. Hatred shook his frame and his wand was suddenly in his hand.

"_Laedo Morbere!_"

Professor Snape swirled sharply on his healthy leg, his wand caressed by long fingers, to face the sickly green curse. The spell met a strong shield. The shield wobbled under the strength of the curse, but overcame it.

"_Weak_," Professor Snape smirked. "Next time you try to curse me - from behind, at that – at least use a curse that will impress me."

Harry's eyes widened. That was the strongest spell he knew…and it was worthless. Snape leered at him, and Harry was rooted in place.

"Detention, I think," Professor Snape announced. The man was enjoying every second of this meeting, it seemed. "Friday, 7 o'clock. And for your own sake, learn some better spells."

The Professor left for his office, and Harry was alone.

* * *

"What took so long?" Draco hissed. Harry avoided the boy's eyes, setting his bag down on the table in front of him. Harry rubbed at his face - he had left the potions lab moments after Professor Snape, but he was more conflicted than ever. Professor Snape's words stung on an emotional level that few had ever reached with him.

_Weak_.

Compared to Snape, we was, wasn't he? That hurt. A lot. Harry had made to conscious decision to never be mocked for not being good enough again.

And yet, there it was. Professor Snape was the better spellcaster. The man had been involved in the war, after all. It only made sense that the man could cast well. The shield he conjured had been cast nonverbally – and not only that, but the man had expected the attack.

Self-doubt clawed at Harry's insides. '_I should have gone with something wandless_,' Harry grimaced. The spell he had used on Snape would have left the man violently ill – it was a Dark spell, one that would incapacitate a victim for weeks. The illness would change based on what was done for it. And the man had _dared_ to call him weak after that?

What spell did he want thrown at him, anyway? A Killing Curse?

"I don't know what's wrong with you, but Quirrell will be coming in any second so get it together," Draco whispered. Harry heaved a sigh and nodded at the other boy. It wouldn't do to miss an opportunity to observe the stuttering fool that was Quirrell, after all.

"S-s-settle down, c-class," Professor Quirrell wavered, shaking as he set his briefcase on the teacher's desk. "Today, w-we'll b-be studying ab-bout imp-p-portance of proper wand c-care in sp-spellcasting."

'_Jesus Christ, save me from this idiot_,' Harry mentally moaned. His scar prickled slightly, as it always did in Quirrell's class, but the slight pain helped him focus. Seriously, how did anyone believe this bullshit? The man was a liar, from his stutter to his personality. Harry was still suspicious, but what was he to do about the man now? He decided to set it all aside –both Quirrell and his experiences with Snape - in favor of reading a spellbook Lucius had sent him; it was not like he actually had to pay attention in this class, right?

A sharp thud drew his attention several minutes later. Harry looked over the top of his book to see a student in the front row slumped over in their chair. Whispers broke out as the Ravenclaw on the front row shook her desk mate. The slumped figure did not respond.

"Is everything q-quite alr-alright, d-dear?" Professor Quirrell asked fretfully.

"I think he's fainted, Professor," The girl answered.

_Plop_.

Harry turned in his seat to see Blaise falling to the floor.

"Zabini, get up!" Parkinson said, sticking her foot out to nudge the boy. Zabini, it seemed, was unconscious as well.

Harry slowly set his book down, keeping his gaze up. Whatever was causing this, surely it couldn't be a good thing.

"Alright, what the bloody hell is going on?" Theo cried as another boy slumped to the floor.

Draco, to Harry's left fell from his seat as well, knocking his head soundly against the marble floor. Harry started from the sudden noise, drawing his wand and sending his chair skidding as he stood. Students were dropping like flies now. Harry's eyes swiveled quickly, ready to defend himself, but there was nothing _visible_ happening.

At this point, only he, Parkinson, and a Ravenclaw boy were standing. The Ravenclaw shivered in place, unable to move a muscle.

Professor Quirrell had a hand over his chest, wide eyes surveying the class. The man looked scared out of his wits. The Ravenclaw was the next to drop, eyes rolling and collapsing into a desk.

'_What is doing this? There's nothing in the room_,' Harry thought desperately. He had already had one humbling experience today – he could handle this.

"What are you standing around for, Potter?" Parkinson screeched. "Protect me!"

Harry turned to the girl, a harsh comment ready to be fired, when a red spell surged toward the girl. Parkinson fell, leaving Harry to turn once more.

Quirrell.

The man stood still, wand outward, with the expression that Harry remembered from last week. The man's eyes were changed, however. Instead of Quirrell's usual pale eyes, Harry now gazed into deep red ones.

"What is your problem?" Harry asked, casting an arm out in Parkinson's direction. He was vaguely aware that the pain in his scar had increased. "Why did you stun her?"

Professor Quirrell smirked predatorily. "Her? My dear child, did you miss all the others I incapacitated? I did not overestimate you, did I?"

"It doesn't surprise me that you were doing it, but why leave me standing? What do you want?" His hand tensed on the handle of his wand, his other arm ready strike out with magic as well. He would not be embarrassed twice in one day.

Quirrell spread his arms wide, stepping over the fallen form of a student in the front row. "It is less about what I want and more about what you want, Harry. You did, after all, follow me last Friday afternoon. You have questions for me, I assume?"

"Of course," Harry said softly. "Like why did you try to rob Gringotts? Why do you act like a fool? What are you after?"

Professor Quirrell laughed. It was a soft laugh, one that sent shivers down Harry's spine, much like that day at Gringotts. "Fair questions, and ones I can readily answer; for the first, Gringotts was in possession of an item that I desire," Quirrell smiled, not missing a beat. "I am after my own gain, as we all are – you can relate, I assume?"

Quirrell raised an eyebrow at Harry, waiting for an answer. When Harry nodded, the man smiled once more. "As for why I act 'a fool'…I like playing games, Harry. Besides, who would suspect shaky, stutter, Professor Quirrell of any wrongdoing?"

Harry was interrupted from processing the man's answers when Quirrell lashed out with a question of his own.

"So, Harry," Professor Quirrell leered. "Were you aware of the consequences of your actions?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "I usually am. What consequences in particular are you talking about?"

Red eyes glinted with emotion. "Why, drawing my interest, of course," Professor Quirrell whispered. "I've seen who you are…but I have not seen how you _react_."

The man vanished and the pain in Harry's scar subsided. Well, if this wasn't a déjà vu moment.

Wait a minute…

Harry spun with his wand raised just as Professor Quirrell reappeared. The man lunged for him with his arms stretched wide, reaching out to grab him. Harry swept his hand out, launching a chair at the man. Quirrell laughed as he sidestepped the chair with ease.

"Very good, Harry," Professor Quirrell praised. "Unfortunately, you cannot stop me."

A spell swept Harry's feet out from under him, sending him harshly to the floor. Harry gasped as his hip collided painfully with the leg of a desk. A heavy weight settled upon him, pinning him in place.

"Get off!" Harry yelled, kicking out with his feet to displace the laughing Quirrell. It was no use; the man was too strong.

"You cannot stop me," Professor Quirrell repeated, red eyes inches from his own. "You are powerless to stop me, Harry. You are weak. I can do anything I want to you. I have taken your will away."

Harry's wide eyes stared fearfully back at Professor Quirrell. The man deflected another kick, but it was a half-hearted one. Harry was defeated, restrained without even being injured.

Professor Quirrell's hand reached out, settling against the scar on his forehead.

"Good night, Harry," Quirrell mocked. The hand pressed down sharply, forcing the back of Harry's head to meet the marble floor. Stars burst forth in front of Harry's eyes. The man was laughing above him. His head was forced to the floor again and his vision went black, the last vestiges of laughter ringing in his ears.

* * *

Classes were cancelled for the rest of the day. After all, none of the students were able to pay attention after hearing of the first year defense class that morning. What could have caused an entire class of kids to drop over in a faint?

Rumors were circling through the school that the class had all fallen ill. Others had a magical creature as the culprit. The one person no one blamed was Professor Quirrell.

Professor Quirrell was inconsolable. The man had fled from the classroom as the last student fell, but refused (or was unable from fear) to describe exactly what had happened. The man was now being treated with the rest of the class in the Hospital Wing by Madam Pomfrey.

The Professors, led by the Headmaster, had thoroughly examined the classroom, but found no leads on what had caused the ordeal. Professor Snape had informed all the Slytherins that it was likely a witch or wizard was behind the attack. In response, the older years were now tasked with the duty of protecting the lower years.

In the Hospital Wing, the students were all unconscious. Harry Potter, though none of the students were aware, had actually been attacked after Professor Quirrell fled, but was healing from the ordeal. All the patients were asleep, except one.

Voldemort was exhausted. He had been in control of Quirinus for most of the past week and the man was still fighting him. How was he to strengthen himself in such a state? Still, the past few days had been productive.

Lucius was doing well in his assignments. If the man kept up the good work, perhaps his inevitable punishment could be reduced. His role in confronting Severus was well done, and speaking of Severus…my, what a _fun_ reunion.

The potions master certainly had a way with words, though his screams were much more pleasurable. Voldemort decided to give the man a chance to redeem himself. He was now burdened with a difficult task, but it was quite simple in practice.

Voldemort, in his exhaustion, finally let go of Quirinus' mind. He needed to recouperate.

'_But more than anything_,' He thought. '_I need a new host. Soon._'

* * *

Shit's getting real, isn't it? **Only one of these scenes was supposed to happen when I outlined this chapter, but then an idea, as often happens with me, popped into my mind and I just could not resist.**

**I'm sorry the updates have gotten slower. I am helping coach my old high school baseball team, I'm attending classes, working at the school newspaper...and I'm having fun. I think about this story often and the frequent brainstorming sessions really help to make this story compelling, I believe.**

**Now, let me get to answering some of my favorite comments:**

**_ilyena damodred_: I'm glad you are enjoying the story and thank you for giving me your opinion on Harry's character. I try not to view Harry as having a light and dark side. Instead...he's just Harry - a kid who suffered a lot in an orphanage, hated everyone, and has a tendency to follow his ambitions a bit rashly. He should remind you of canon Harry in that regard. The only real difference is that he is much more self confident and less concerned with other people's feelings. If something will benefit him with only minor consequences, why wouldn't he do it? As you pointed out - and a common trait in young people - he's not fully examining his actions and their consequences. He'll learn from it eventually.**

**_GreenGrizzly_: Good to hear from you again! Voldemort's character is so much fun to write because he can literally do anything he wants - who's going to stop him? Certainly not me. If he wants to kick Lucius in the face, who am I to prevent it? I said it in my private message to you, but I can be more creative than putting Harry in detention just to get him in the Forbidden Forest, just like I can be more creative than just having Bane insult Harry. I don't know exactly what will happen after 1st year, to be honest. I have vague plans, but I don't know if there will be a CoS equivalent, if I'll make a second story for it, and so on. As my motto has become, we'll see!**

**_lovelyduckling80_: I love my lurkers just as much, and even more so when they give me feedback! The "having it all lain out there so indifferently" is intentional, I assure you. I hate stories that bash characters or have someone manipulating Harry. I won't do it; Harry will consciously decide on everything he does. You rock, by the way; please, continue to let me know what you think!**

**_scalvim_: I'm trying to give you more chapters! To answer your questions: Can't tell you, can't tell you, dunno, dunno, yes, yes, hahaha, more than you can imagine, and you just read it! Love you, I'll get to work on #12 tomorrow.**

**There are more of you I want to answer, but it's 3:29 a.m. and I have class at 9. Just know that I'm humbled by the follows and favorites (and especially reviews...hint, hint) and that I will strive to continue to make this story as alluring as possible. If you have any questions, ask! I will provide you answers and my own thought process for whatever the question is about.**

**See you soon,**

**Brigade**


	12. Responsibility and Constancy

**Right. I'm not going to make excuses, nor am I going to apologize. Here's your chapter - and I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter 12: Responsibility and Constancy**

"I think he's awake."

"I'd reckon you're right, twin of mine."

"And it's all thanks to you two, you gits! Honestly, could you be any louder?"

"Ronnie, that's no way to talk to your brothers –"

"Especially when they are here out of the goodness of their own hearts."

"Shut it, Fred. Neither of you have a heart."

"Oh, brother, how deeply you wound us!"

"By the way - Fred? Ronnie boy, can't you tell your brothers apart? I'm George!"

"No, you're not. I don't want to play this game."

"But really! I am George – honest!"

Harry blearily opened his eyes to see three fuzzy red orbs floating in the air above him, standing out from the bright yellow lighting. He blinked rapidly to clear his head, but his sight remained foggy and unclear. Harry turned his heads to the side to look around. Ah – there were his glasses.

"I told you he was awake!"

"I never doubted you, Georgie. Welcome to the land of the living, Harry!"

Harry fit his glasses snugly onto his nose before looking towards the voice. Ron Weasley stood at the foot of a bed, his ears as red as his hair. The boy was looking on in outrage at two taller redheads, both peering down at Harry with large, matching grins on their faces. But why were they all looking down at him?

Harry swiveled his head past the other boys to around the spacious room. Beds lined the walls, each covered in crisp, white sheets, and each furnished with a mahogany desk by its side. Oh great – he was in the Hospital Wing.

Harry's mind rushed back to the reason why he was lying where he was. A hand – Quirrell's – had slammed his head to the floor time after time. Harry winced as he recalled the laughter. That absolute _git _had hurt him. When he got his wand to that man's throat, Harry would…

'_He beat me_,' Harry realized with something like ice filling his stomach. '_Easily. I couldn't do anything to him, or to Snape, for that matter. I can't hurt either of them; they could do anything they wanted to me at any time – I have no power against them_.'

Harry was vaguely aware that his hands were shaking. Not since he was a child could he remember feeling…scared? Helpless? What would these wizards do to him?

"You okay, Harry?"

"Leave him alone, George!"

"I'm still Fred, Ronniekins. Sorry to disappoint."

"I'm fine," Harry interrupted as Ron's face grew even redder.

"Nothing a good meal couldn't fix, I'd imagine," The twin – George – said with sympathy. The older boy's features grew bright, however. "Right! We're Fred," He gestured to his brother, who bowed theatrically, "and George Weasley – this git's older – "

"And more handsome," Fred Weasley added, throwing Harry a wink as he stroked his chin.

"And talented," George boasted, grinning at his twin's theatrics.

"And all around better brothers!" Fred finished, his arms outstretched. "Pleased to meet you!"

Harry squinted at the two, unable to believe that he had met two people more climactic than Draco. Slowly, he removed his hand from under the sheets and offered it to the boys. "Nice to meet you two," He said as the twins both grabbed his hand at the same time, shaking it vigorously. Harry could only shake his head as they continued grinning.

"Oh good, he's awake!"

Harry turned his head to see Cedric stride through the large entrance door to the Hospital Wing, a stack of toast and bacon tittering on top of some napkins.

"Diggy the Pretty!" Fred exclaimed, a hand rising to his breast. "Why, we haven't seen you nearly as much this year!"

"I've seen enough of you two for a lifetime, thanks," Cedric joked, smiling pleasantly at the twins. "After you turned all my shoes into high heels last year, I think I deserve a break."

"But you looked marvelous!" George protested.

"Simply smashing!" Fred agreed.

"Smashing – yeah, I did a lot of that in those heels," Cedric said sardonically, taking a seat next to Harry's bed. Harry raised his eyebrows at Cedric when the boy smiled softly at him. "I brought you breakfast, pal; it's Tuesday."

Harry took the piece of bacon off the top of the stack, muttering a quick word of thanks. He nibbled on the end of it, very aware of the four sets of eyes watching him.

"So, er, Harry," Ron started awkwardly. "What happened to you? Classes were cancelled yesterday and the entire Defense class was sent to the Hospital Wing!"

Harry stopped chewing to look sharply at the boy. Ron shifted slightly on his feet, but his eyes held steady. The boy was eager to hear the truth.

Harry seethed inwardly at the feelings that one question instilled in him. What happened was something that could _never_ happen again. Outwardly, Harry shrugged dismissively, continuing to chew his bacon. "It's none of your business, to be honest. I don't want to talk about it, Ron."

"Pardon our sibling, Harry –"

"He's a bit dense at times –"

"And as insensitive as a giant at others."

Harry repeated his shrug, before taking the piece of toast Cedric was offering him. How the other boy knew he preferred marmalade on his toast, he was not sure.

"Shut it, you two. I know you two are as curious as I am," Ron muttered sullenly. "Why can't you talk about it, Harry? You were there! Quirrell went running around, screaming in fear, yesterday! If the Professor – "

"Seriously, kid, stop talking," Cedric frowned. "He already said no – badgering him isn't going to make him change his mind."

Harry shut his eyes and tried to reel back his anger. The others did not know how he felt, and he could not describe it to them, even if he wanted to. The fear, the disappointment…the pain. The emotions swirled within him like a whirlpool. It wasn't good to _feel_ like this. It put him on edge.

"But if he'd just –"

"Look, Ron – I'm not talking about it," Harry snarled, glaring at the boy as his anger slipped from his grasp. "Thanks for coming to check on me, by the way; that was really nice of you," He sarcastically added.

"Fine, whatever," Ron murmured, waving a hand dismissively. "You're being stupid, anyway."

Ron then turned to leave, an action that flayed at his emotions even more. Harry watched the boy go with sharp eyes, never hating someone more than he did in that moment. This boy – a boy he had known for days, mind you – had the nerve to demand answers from him? And then Ron dismissed him when Harry did not give him what he wanted?

Fred whistled. "Wow. Someone needs to lighten up."

"And the same someone needs to remove the stick from his arse," George agreed. "We can help with that, right, Fred?"

"Of course, George."

"I'd love to help you," Cedric muttered, his brows creased together.

"You three! Out of my infirmary this instant! Why did you not notify me that he was awake?"

Madam Pomfrey bustled forth from her office, brandishing her wand. "Get back in bed, Mr. Potter! I need to check you before I can release you."

Harry bit back a sneer, heaving his feet back onto the bed. Cedric clasped his shoulder in encouragement. "I guess I've got to go, Harry. I'll talk to you after class, okay?"

Harry nodded wordlessly to the boy, keeping his eyes on the Mediwitch's wand. If she tried anything funny, he would be ready.

"Right!" Fred clasped his hands together. "I guess we ought to go find some mischief to get into. Nice to meet you again, Harry –"

"And sorry for our prat of a brother. He's getting as bad as Percy at times –"

"Not quite that bad, yet. He isn't a Prefect, after all. "

"Yes, but he's –"

"Out, Weasleys!" Madam Pomfrey screeched, gesturing with her wand to the door.

"And don't let her use her thermometer on you! I hear it's quite large!"

"OUT!"

* * *

Harry was cleared by Madam Pomfrey to leave the Hospital Wing shortly after the others had left with a pass from class for the day as well as a command to, "go to the kitchens and eat a proper breakfast, not the bread and crumbs Diggory brought you!" Harry, however, had somewhere else to go before heading to the kitchens; there was a particular book in his dorm room that he desperately needed to look through.

Harry ignored the looks he was receiving. Apparently, the previous day's events were still fresh on everyone's minds. But what did it matter what they thought? The rest of the school probably saw him as a poor first year who had been hurt.

It was more than that, though. Severus Snape had purposefully targeted him. Quirinus Quirrell had purposefully targeted him. They both knew he was no ordinary first year, and Harry resented them for it.

Wasn't attention what he wanted, though? Harry hated himself for weakly thinking such trash. What he wanted was praise for his strength. He wanted others to acknowledge his superiority. He was not superior to Snape, nor was he superior to Quirrell.

It was time to change that.

But how, exactly? He needed to study harder than ever, that was obvious. In the meantime, he could not let the two wizards hold knowledge _and_ power over him, right? Knowledge could not be rushed. Power, on the other hand…

"Harry!"

Harry looked up from the ground to see Draco emerging from the Common Room with his bag draped across his shoulder. Physically, Draco looked as if nothing had happened to him on Monday. His eyes, however, Harry thought, looked dark and weary. Draco had not slept.

"Hey, Draco," Harry said softly, holding his hand out to the boy. Draco grasped it firmly, pulling Harry to the wall.

"I wrote to my father about what happened," Draco began swiftly. "I do not know who did it, or how they did it, but no one hurts the Malfoy heir and gets away with it, Harry – _no one_."

Harry snorted in consternation. "I know what happened and I'm taking care of it, Draco, I promise. I really need to –"

"Wait, you know who did it?" Draco's eyes opened wide as he placed his hands on Harry's shoulders. "Who, Harry? Who did it? Tell me! I deserve to know! I want to hurt them back!"

"You wouldn't be able to hurt them," Harry succinctly stated, grabbing Draco's wrists and lowering them to the boy's sides. "Trust me on this one, Draco; there isn't a damn thing you can do."

"But my father can," Draco urged him. "He can punish whoever did this, Harry. Just tell me who it is! They will never mess with us again –"

"No."

Draco looked at Harry shrewdly. Harry could feel his limbs shaking slightly. There was no way he would let someone else do his work. Besides, Lucius was already on Snape's side, right? What if he had another enemy to deal with?

"Are you alright, Harry?"

Harry grimaced at the question. "Look, I'll be okay. Can you trust me to take care of it?"

Draco squinted at him. "What are you planning to do?"

"I'll tell you later – I promise, Draco," Harry added as the boy opened his mouth to argue. "I just need you to trust me right now. There is a lot going on that you really don't need to get involved in."

"But my father – "

"I do not need your father to fight my battles for me, alright?" Harry said forcefully. "Go to class, please. I promise I'll let you know what's happening later."

"But what will I tell my father?" Draco demanded. "This is not just your problem, Harry; the entire class got knocked out!"

'_Yeah, but they are only after me_,' Harry thought sardonically. "Tell your father to keep his nose out of my business, thanks," Harry scowled. "I've got work to do – go to class."

Harry escaped from the wall, hearing Draco huff as he entered the Common Room. Leaving Draco unaware of what was going on was for the boy's own good. Draco was his friend, but he still was uncertain how much he should tell him when the time came. If Draco's father and godfather were both conspiring against him, Draco certainly would not be happy.

Harry crossed through the Common Room, intent on making it to his dorm, but a call of "Hey, Potter!" stopped him. Harry turned around to look for whoever had spoken, his eyes coming to rest on Felix Sykes. Sykes had his head turned around from one of the leather couches and a lazy smile on his face. Ever since his duel with Marcus Flint, Sykes drew attention from the Slytherins wherever he went. In the present, Sykes had his arm draped around a very pretty upper year. The girl flashed him a grin before succumbing to giggles.

Harry raised his eyebrows at Sykes, folding his arms to wait for the Prefect's words.

Sykes snorted. "You fly, right?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Here and there, yes."

"Are you any good?" Sykes asked, tugging the girl closer to whisper in her ear, causing her to giggle once more.

Sykes was holding him up to talk flying? Jesus…

"I'm a fair flyer. Is there anything else you wanted, Sykes?" Harry muttered, shaking his hand slightly in aggravation.

"Let me know when you go flying again, okay, Potter? I want to watch," Sykes elaborated, winking at him.

"Sure. If you'll excuse me, I need to go study," Harry turned, rolling his eyes. What a pointless conversation – and one that kept him away from _Ritualism: Borne of Sacrifice, Treasured for Eternity._

* * *

_The Druidic Ritual of Magical Conductivity_

_Magic exists all around us, rolling like waves, sharpening like ice, and striking like lightning. The Ritual of Magical Conductivity intones the participant to the movement of magic, enabling them to draw more magic for personal use. _

_This ritual does not make a witch or wizard more "powerful." Instead, it allows the witch or wizard to enhance their spells with more of their magic. In addition, magical reserves are bolstered by the increased conductivity of the practitioner with the magic around them. _

_What must be understood is that a witch or wizard's passive magic is not just a pool to be drawn from. On the contrary, the passive magic takes many different forms. With the completion of this ritual, the participant's magical nature will adapt slightly, allowing them to draw from the particular source of passive magic that they require. The witch or wizard will still be capable of transforming their passive magic, and much more efficiently than those who do not undergo this ritual. The end result allows the participant to draw from more of their magic, allowing for stronger spells and an enhancement of natural magical talents._

_The sacrifices required from this ritual will provide the magic necessary to optimize a witch or wizard's magical conversion. This ritual requires the lives of two magical creatures: one from an underwater habitat, and another from an earthen habitat. These creatures are required for several reasons, but the primary objective of each sacrifice is to provide excess passive magic of particular forms. Magical creatures from underwater habitats possess much higher levels of "wavy" magic – an adaptation to their environment. Likewise, "earthen" magical creatures (from woodland or desert habitats) possess a much rougher, spikier form of magic. (For a comprehensive list of suggested creatures for passive magic conversions, turn to page 479.)_

_This sacrifice also requires two runes to be inscribed onto the body through the means of a ritual knife. Though the runes and their location are up to the participant's discression, the runes must complement the conversive nature of this ritual. _

_The ritual is simplistic in its practice…_

Harry flipped through the ritual book to find the list of suggested creatures, his mind moving faster than a nundu. Harry had taken his book to the library, surrounding himself with tomes from the Restricted Section. He was certain that this particular ritual would help him against Quirrell or Snape, and therefore it was an amazing find. The runes could wait – if the book was right, he could use pretty much any that he wanted to. But finding creatures that would inhabit the area around Hogwarts would be a problem. As for the runes…honestly, if they were to be imprinted on his skin, he was leaning toward using two that looked cool.

Hmm…were there actually acromantula near the school?

"Good morning, Harry."

Harry looked up from his book, sliding another casually on top. The Headmaster was smiling down at him, his wizened hand grasping the back of a chair. "I am pleased to see you up and about. Madam Pomfrey did not cause you too much trouble, I hope?"

"Morning, Professor," Harry smiled thinly. "I'm fine, thanks."

Professor Dumbledore nodded slowly in acknowledgement, taking the seat across from Harry. "I very much doubt that you wish to talk about what happened yesterday, so I shall leave my questioning at that."

Professor Dumbledore reached for one of the tomes on the table before Harry could react. "Ah," Professor Dumbledore said, adjusting his glasses with his thumb and forefinger. "Ancient Runes have taken your interest, then?"

Harry sighed silently in relief, nodding at the Headmaster. "Yes, sir. I've just started looking into them. It is really interesting how they hold their power."

Professor Dumbledore smiled benignly. "As with most branches of magic, Harry, the intentions of the caster shape the magic. Runes can carry immense power through the caster's intentions, especially when the caster sacrifices a part of themselves in the process.

Professor Dumbledore smiled with amusement at Harry's puzzled countenance.

"Blood, Harry," Professor Dumbledore added.

"But isn't magic involving blood a bit darker than most?" Harry asked with raised eyebrows, curious of the Professor's answer.

Professor Dumbledore paused slightly, his blue eyes catching Harry's own. "Blood magic is crude, for certain, but I hesitate to call any magic Dark, Harry. There are, of course, branches of magic that require the initiate to perform heinous deeds, but very few forms of magic are what I would consider irredeemably "Dark."

Harry listened with attentive ears, his research forgotten for the moment. That answer – from the hero of the Wizarding World – genuinely surprised him.

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry blurted before he could stop himself. Wasn't this man the purest of the pure? A man without fault? What on earth would persuade this man to teach an eleven year old about questionable forms of magic?

Professor Dumbledore leaned in slightly, his calm features becoming much more serious. "I tell you this because I recognize your talents, Harry. Your grades are spectacular, the Professors rave of your accomplishments, and I have seen you grow in your short stay at this castle. You are the future of the Wizarding World, I have no doubts about it."

Professor Dumbledore smiled as Harry opened his mouth, raising a hand to halt his words.

"I have said nothing that you are not already aware of, Harry. I do appreciate your modesty, however. For me to withhold knowledge from you would be criminal. Instead, I ask you to make your own judgments and realize the power of your actions. The more magic you hold, the greater your effects on others. You must realize this and claim responsibility for your actions. The magic all around us is constant; we must always remain vigilant."

"But then why did you turn my request for private instruction away? This is exactly what I had hoped for in the first place!" Harry cried, his voice sounding petulant to his own ears.

A flash of – something – crossed Professor Dumbledore's features before his smile returned, slightly wider than before. "I believe that having a mentor for your emotional and moral growth is much more important at this stage of your life, Harry," Professor Dumbledore said. "I shall, of course, mentor you in your own magical interests at a later time. For now, though, continue working hard."

Professor Dumbledore flicked through the tome quickly before nodding distractedly at a page. The Professor set the book in front of Harry, reaching out to pat Harry's hand. "I am proud of you, Harry. Responsibility and constancy; never forget."

Harry watched the wizard leave before diving into the book that the Headmaster had laid before him. Responsibility and constancy, eh? Ironically, a rune for responsibility appeared on the page in front of him. Harry smiled, pulling a scrap of parchment close to practice drawing the rune. He never saw the gentle smile on the departing Professor Dumbledore's face widen into a smirk.

* * *

Gillyweed. That was the answer. After finding the runes he would use in the ritual with Professor Dumbledore's help, Harry then had to decide on what creatures he would need to use as sacrifices. He was limited in many ways by his location. However, there was a clear answer to the "underwater creature," and that was the Black Lake. Cedric had mentioned once that his Magical Creatures class was studying Grindylows, a creature found in the Black Lake. Luckily for Harry, Grindylows were on the suggested list of sacrifices.

That brought him to Gillyweed. He needed to enter the lake and, well, _breathe. _By a stroke of luck, Harry had come across the term when he was searching for material on underwater creatures. By all means, such a substance (and potion ingredient) should be stocked in any Potions cupboard…

Harry was vaguely aware of the slight shaking in his limbs. He had skipped lunch to continue working out the kinks for the ritual he wanted to perform. Now, he had to find a way to sneak into Snape's cupboard to steal the bloody plant. It was so much bloody trouble to go through, but what was he to do? He had Potions with the man on Wednesday and there was no chance in hell he was willing to attend that class without a leg up on the man, with or without Draco at his side.

_Draco_.

"Where is that little git?" Harry breathed, rising quickly from his chair in the library. He swept all his books back into his bag, leaving the rest for Madam Pince to collect. Harry looked up at the clock; the last classes of the day should be getting out in mere minutes, and Draco was currently in Transfiguration.

Harry sped down the hallway, his robes sweeping behind him as students emerged from their classes. The Transfiguration classroom was on the ground floor near the courtyard, so finding Draco really should not be a problem.

"Draco!"

The blond-headed boy turned around, the superior look on his face giving way to a frustrated grimace.

"Harry! You won't believe what Professor McGonagall made me do! She actually asked me to shut – "

"I need you to distract Professor Snape for me."

Draco's eyes widened, looking around furtively. "Is this about –"

"Yep, and I'm still taking care of it. Just go to Snape's office and talk about whatever, I don't care. I just need five minutes."

"To do what? And what am I supposed to talk to him about?"

"I don't know! He's your godfather! What do you two usually talk about?"

"Er – well, we usually talk about my problems and how stupid people are – "

"Then talk about that! C'mon, Draco; help me out, here!"

Draco sighed. "Potter, you've got to let me in on what's going on at some point. Do you know what I'd tell anyone else who asked me to do this?"

Harry shrugged. "You'd tell them to get lost and laugh at them as they walked away, I know. I really need your help, though! I promise I'll let you in on everything soon."

Draco shook his head with exasperation before smiling slightly. "Fine, Potter. When do you want to do this?"

"Now, of course."

"Alright," Draco said. "But you owe me for this."

Harry grinned, wrapping an arm around Draco's shoulders. "You have to get the job done first, mate."

* * *

The Forbidden Forest was lovely at night. The starlight fluttered through the tree branches, illuminating his clearing with clean light. Harry looked over at the Grindylow, tied up and stunned, at the corner of his makeshift delta. With the help of Gillyweed, catching that blasted creature was fairly easy. Of course, Harry had to work without casting spells (who could speak underwater, anyway?) but a quick, mental want to bind the Grindylow took care of it.

As for the acromantula – there was a bloody hive of the things inside the forest. Harry had come upon a group of them near the Gamekeeper's hut. Harry had been forced to stun all four of them, but only levitated one back to his clearing.

As for the runes – responsibility and constancy. If those words came from Professor Dumbledore's mouth, what better runes would there be? Harry smiled with amusement; he would have a hard time forgetting "responsibility and constancy" when they were practically tattooed to his forearms.

The rune for constancy was very fluid – there were no harsh lines, but rather wavy patterns, each one almost losing control, but turning back into itself. Harry decided to place that particular rune on his left forearm, in line with the Grindylow. Fluidity, right?

The rune for responsibility had no qualms with rough edges, but it appeared nimble and spry. The rune looked almost as if it could jump off of the page. Harry had practiced drawing each of the runes on all the spare parchment he had.

A howl from deep within the forest caught Harry's attention, bringing it back to the knife within his hands.

"Okay," Harry breathed slowly. "Nice and even, here. I want these things to look good, at least."

Harry dragged the knife through his right forearm, mimicking the lines on the parchment near his side. Blood dripped steadily from his arm, running down his hand, his fingernails, and falling onto his clothed thighs. There was a little bit of pain, but the red light emanating from the cuts intrigued Harry. He switched hands with a rattling sigh to start the second rune. Was he imagining the blackness surrounding the upturned acromantula?

The lights shining from within his forearms glowed brighter as Harry grimaced. With one last cut, he would be finished. A small pool of glowing blood surrounded his knees, enough to allow Harry's head to become weightless.

Suddenly, pressure took over his existence. Harry felt as if his eyes would pop out; the lights were too strong and the pressure too great. Harry dropped the knife in favor of kneeling over.

"Make…me strong," Harry gasped through the pain. He clenched the dirt around him with shaky hands. The bodies of the two creatures shone, the cries of each animal suddenly spilling forth. Harry watched as blues and blacks mixed with the reds of his own blood. The lights approached him, filling Harry with a sudden sense of dread.

All of that was forgotten as the lights entered his body through the newly carved runes.

Harry screamed.

* * *

"What is that boy up to now?" Severus Snape sneered, looking on at the soft glow coming from Forbidden Forest. A scream made itself known to Severus, who stood just outside of the Quidditch Pitch.

Lord Voldemort smiled with pleasure, looking on with something akin to pride in his red eyes. "He's doing what others are afraid of, Severus," Lord Voldemort whispered, his pale hand snaking out to grasp his follower's shoulder. "Harry Potter is not held back by silly preconceptions. He's hardened – and I want him on my side."

"Pardon me, My Lord," Severus Snape apologized. "But if we're to…recruit the boy…why did we attack him?

Lord Voldemort smirked, his hand providing Severus Snape his only warning, clamping down with force. "Harry simply needed a push, Severus…and we were only too happy to oblige, weren't we?"

"Of course, My Lord," Severus Snape agreed, bowing his head. The glowing from the Forbidden Forest subsided as the screams gave way to silence. Severus Snape had no idea what the boy had done – well, he certainly could recognize Olde Magick – and found himself dreading the next day of classes. He had Double Potions with the first years on Wednesday.

If you don't mind me asking, My Lord," Severus Snape started cautiously, receiving no rebuke. "What makes Potter so much better than other boys his age? He's powerful, certainly, but is that all you see in him?"

Lord Voldemort laughed softly as he raised his hand to caress the nape of Severus' neck. Lord Voldemort leaned in close, enjoying the fear being emitted from his follower – his property.

"It is not who we are on the inside that counts," Voldemort whispered. "But rather it is what we do because of who we are. I have never sat on the sidelines, Severus – _never_. I am all powerful; my followers view me as their Lord not because of my power, but what I do with it. Likewise, it is what my followers do because of their loyalty that pleases me. Loyalty only matters if it causes my followers to _produce_. Think about that."

Lord Voldemort patted Severus Snape mockingly on the back of his neck, laughing shortly at the wide, black eyes staring back at him. After looking back once at the Forbidden Forrest, Lord Voldemort turned to leave.

"Ah – one more thing, Severus," Lord Voldemort turned, his red eyes glowing with pleasure. "If I were you, I would be wary of Harry Potter tomorrow. He might…_electrify_."

Severus Snape swallowed nervously as he watched his master leave, laughing uproariously.

"How did I get myself back into this?" He asked himself aloud. The only answer he received was the Forbidden Forest glowing once more and a joyful laugh ringing out from within its branches.

* * *

**Soooo...there you go. Does that make up for the extended break? I hope so :)**

**I plan to go back over my other chapters at some point and tidy them up. I may even lengthen them - who knows, really? I have the plot all sorted out, so I would not be adding in that way. Whatever, I'll let you know if I do alter the chapters a bit.**

**I also want to say this (even though I have not even planned the next chapter yet) so pay attention. I anticipate that the next chapter will be a long one - oh, and it will also change the course of this entire story. Got your attention now, do I? Heheheh...we'll see. I think it will be in the next chapter. If not, it will be very soon.**

**Let me know what you think and if you see any blatant mistakes. Did you like the twins' brief cameo? Ron's acting like Ron, huh? Cedric's just so fucking cute, right? ****I'm always here to answer any questions you have.**

**Cheers,**

**Brigade.**


	13. The Rule of Threes

**_A/N: I'm back, if you couldn't tell. And - wait for it - with a new chapter._**

**_I finished the semester a week or two ago, and after a few loose ends, I was able to finally finish this chapter. I was reluctant to send this chapter out with no time to continue because...well read the chapter and you'll see what I mean._**

**_Since I last posted, this story has reached the "1000+ alerts" milestone, which is flattering beyond belief. Let me just say thank you, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story._**

**_By the way...do you like cliff hangers?_**

* * *

The biscuit tin in her hand was masterfully carven from a rich, brown wood. The grooves of the wood swirled and wrapped around the circular surface of the tin to meet at a large, wooden knot at the top. The knot of wood was a slightly lighter color – almost a soft golden – and served as the lid to the tin. Professor McGonagall readjusted her wire-rimmed glasses before gracing her student with an approving smile.

"Masterfully done, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said, setting the tin back on her student's desk. "I believe this is worth ten points for Slytherin House. Perhaps you have a few words of advice for your classmates?"

Harry ducked his head unabashedly, hiding a grin that could also be called a smirk. "Yes ma'am. I tried to focus on some branches and trunks that I've seen on trees and just let their appearance guide the spell."

Professor McGonagall nodded before looking out at the rest of your students. "Your classmate has the right idea. Focus more on what you know and what you wish to accomplish with your spellcasting. Let the magic determine what form your Transfiguration takes; let the wood do the transforming."

Professor McGonagall swished her robes around her, but first laid a hand on Harry's shoulders before moving on to her other students. "Very well done, Mr. Potter," She said lowly. "Your work these past two weeks has been spectacular for a student your age – I am proud of you."

Harry looked up into his teacher's face, seeing the warmth in her eyes. He graced her with a more genuine smile. "Thanks, Professor."

Professor McGonagall patted him once on the shoulder before moving on to the mess on Seamus Finnegan's table. Harry watched as she removed the scorch stains from the boy's block of wood.

"Thanks, Professor," Draco crooned to Harry's right, his hand shaking Harry's sleeve. Harry turned to the boy with raised eyebrows.

"Ten points beats two, Draco," Harry said, gesturing to the small tin in front of the boy. Draco scoffed, but a small smile remained on his face. "It does the job just fine, thank you."

Harry had completed his second ritual the previous week and had fulfilled his promise to Draco the very same night. The boy had waited up for him well past midnight and demanded answers in a whisper as soon as Harry had entered the dormitory.

After a long discussion – ranging from the books Lucius had loaned him ("_Rituals? Father wouldn't even let me read about them until I was ten_!") to the new lines and swirls that formed the runes on his inner forearms ("_You didn't? Alone?! That's brilliant! Those look wicked_!") – the two Slytherins skipped their first class before starting their days.

Draco had been so pleased with the conversation that it was bordering on smugness in Harry's opinion, but the boy was happy and took the…news better than he had expected. That was worth something, right?

As for Harry's magic…my, what a rush. It was like breathing clean air for the first time, Harry had thought. His spells were coming out much stronger, but the true change for Harry was the pulsing feeling that permeated his skin right before he performed a spell. For Harry, that feeling provided a thrill of accomplishment.

"So that rubbish you spilled out for McGonagall – was that really what you did?" Draco asked conversationally, a hint of intrigue coloring his voice as he swished his wand to revert his tin back into a block of wood.

Harry shrugged and shook his head. "It's what the book basically says to do. I just…do it."

Draco nodded slowly, his brows knitting in concentration as he prepared to transfigure his block of wood. "Thought so."

"It's all about intent, pal," Harry said. "At least I read the book, right?"

"Yeah - so glad you can read, Harry. Would one of you help me out back here?" Theo huffed from the desk behind them as he poked the block of wood with his wand. "Because this bloody thing won't _change_."

Harry looked back at Draco before shrugging. "Sure, Theo."

It turned out that Nott was mispronouncing the spell "_Lignium Mutatie"_ – and to be fair, Latin was not Harry's strong point either – but after a few minutes, a simplistic tin was sitting on Nott's desk, accompanied by a satisfied smirk from its owner.

The bell outside chimed, signaling the end of the day's class.

"I'd like a foot on the properties of wood in transfiguration and how you can improve on your work in class today. It is due Friday. Mr. Potter, you are exempt from the assignment. Dismissed," Professor McGongall said, raising her voice over the scuffling of chairs and disappointed groans of her students.

"Finally," Blaise sighed, meeting up with the other Slytherins outside of the classroom. "At least we are done with class for the day."

The small group set off down the Transfiguration hallway with Harry and his group in front, weaving through the older (and taller) students on their way back to the Common Room. Transfiguration was their only class of the afternoon, leaving several hours of sunlight to enjoy before dinner.

"Only two more until the weekend," Daphne Greengrass chirped. "I've already finished Professor Snape's essay, so the rest of the week shouldn't be too bad."

"Dammit, I knew I had forgotten something," Theo muttered to Harry's left. "And now I've got to get McGonagall's done as well."

"Really, Nott, could you be any cruder? Of course, Potter, the cat's pet got off without another essay," sniffed Parkinson.

"Potter's good," Crabbe grunted from the back. "He's good with his wand."

"Nicely put," Harry sighed, ignoring the false cough and snicker from Draco. "But thanks, Vincent."

"So what are you doing for the rest of the day, Harry?" Draco asked, a small hint of amusement still in his voice.

Harry tapped the bag hanging from his shoulder. "I finished Snape's essay yesterday, so I am pretty much done with schoolwork. I was thinking about grabbing Cedric and see if he wanted to go flying again."

Snape. My, wasn't that a lovely memory? Harry had served his detention with Professor Snape being relentlessly quizzed and thrown through a practical of offensive spellwork. Harry had excelled, much to Snape's growing agitation, and one or two of Harry's spells _may_ have sent the Potions Professor into a cursing rant.

Parkinson made an unpleasant sound, drawing Harry's thoughts out of the proverbial clouds. "The Hufflepuff? Shouldn't you be talking to more meaningful people than one of _them_?"

"Shouldn't you be less of a bitch?" Blaise questioned lightly. Parkinson screeched in outrage before storming ahead as the rest of the Slytherins snickered in ranging levels of decorum. Daphne Greengrass punched Blaise lightly as she continued to giggle.

"That wasn't nice," She accused him.

Blaise shrugged. "She isn't nice, either."

"Oh cool, there's Cedric," Harry said, spotting the taller boy walking down the Grand Staircase. "Draco, will you take my bag to our dorm?"

Draco sighed, holding out his hand dramatically. "This isn't the type of job that a Malfoy is suited for, Potter."

"But you're so good at it, Draco!" Harry grinned, placing his bag in Draco's palm. "See you later!"

Harry shuffled off to the sound of Daphne giggling once more to meet Cedric at the foot of the stairs.

"Want to go flying?" Harry asked, throwing a quick glare at a boy who had knocked into his shoulder.

"Sure thing," Cedric smiled, draping an arm around Harry's neck. "I just got out of Binns' class and could do with a wake up. You aren't stashing the Weasley twins under your robes are you? They have taken to – well, stalking me again."

Harry shook his head, the thought of the Weasley twins leaving him grinning. The twins had taken every opportunity to say hello over the past few weeks and had lived up to their word, teasing and pranking their younger brother every step of the way. The only problem was that Ron Weasley blamed Harry for "getting the twins going." Since that accusation, the two boys had not spoken.

Not that Harry minded. Draco was pleased, so at least there was that.

"C'mon, let's get out of here," Cedric urged, steering Harry out of the main corridor. A short stroll led the two boys through Hogwarts' Great Doors and onto the grounds. Layers of clouds hung over the castle, bringing with them chilly winds that signaled the beginnings of the winter season. The cool breeze tickled at Harry's skin as the two walked in a comfortable silence towards the broom shed located near the Quidditch Pitch.

The goose bumps forming on Harry's forearms from the chilled air spurred him into thought. He had been at Hogwarts now for nearly two months – Halloween was later in the week and already the House Elves were laboring to decorate the castle. And what a two months they had been.

Friends. Quidditch. Rituals. _Magic_. Classes were not necessarily hard, but moments like this – walking down to fly with his friend, Cedric – would never get old. Life before discovering his calling, his _birthright_, was experienced monotonously. Now, however, his senses were tested and his desires were sated. He _would_ become great. There was no other option. The lines and shapes on his inner forearms marked him for greatness.

He had not revealed his actions to Cedric yet. Cedric likely would not understand and would be concerned, Harry thought. Revealing his actions to the older boy would require planning and unique circumstances. However, he considered the boy a friend. He would tell him about the ritual eventually…though perhaps not the cost of the ritual.

"- with the Snitch?"

Harry raised his eyebrows at the other boy before realizing what he had asked.

"Yeah, grab one," Harry said. "I'll find one of the school brooms to use."

Cedric opened a leather case to retrieve a Golden Snitch. The released the golden ball for a split second, allowing the globe to zip sharply to the left before snatching it again with a grin.

"Be sure to grab a good one," Cedric said. "I want to see what you've got."

"More than you can handle, I assure you," Harry boasted, snatching up a shiny black broom with only a few bent bristles. The wood was curvaceous under his fingertips and smooth to hold, fitting perfectly within his palm.

Excellent.

"Let's do it," Harry beamed.

* * *

"Damn," Cedric panted, flexing his wrists to relieve tension. "You are really fast, Harry."

Harry rose to meet the boy, his face flushed from the cold and the exhilaration of beating Cedric to the Snitch again.

"So what is it now?" Harry questioned. "Five to three, my advantage?"

"Two of them from suicide dives," Cedric muttered, weaving his broom underneath Harry to emerge on the other side. "Seriously, I'm not even trying those dives unless it's in a match."

Harry laughed. "They're easy. Just be confident. Watch."

Harry ignored the groan from the other boy to lean forward harshly, flexing his left wrist to twist the black broom into a downward spiral. The yellow and black checkered pattern of the grand stands spun wildly in his vision, the chilly wind biting and roaring into his ears, whipping his robes into frenzy behind him. Harry's heart fluttered as the ground approached. He tucked his elbows in, twirling one final time before leveling out with a flex of his fingertips, nary five feet from the grassy field. Harry's exhilarated yell was nearly inaudible to his own ears as fast as he was flying.

"Who's that?" Cedric yelled, pointing towards the ground as Harry pulled out of his dive to rise back to his friend.

Harry looked down in the direction of Cedric's index finger. A boy with black hair stood near the grandstands, looking up at the two flyers with his arms crossed. From their distance, neither Harry nor Cedric could make out the boy's face. However, the posture was all too familiar to Harry.

"Sykes," said Harry, angling his broom downward once more. "He's the Slytherin prefect. C'mon, let's go see what he wants."

Harry received no reply from his friend, but he could hear the boy's robes billowing behind him. As he approached the older Slytherin, Sykes slowly began to clap.

"Not bad at all, Potter," Sykes said with a sly smile. "Impressive, even."

"How are you doing, Sykes?" Harry asked, his feet meeting grass as he reached out to shake the older boy's hand.

Sykes raised his eyebrows distractedly and re-crossed his arms, looking over the top of Harry's head to look at Cedric. "Better, now that I've seen you fly. You there – you're the Hufflepuff seeker?"

Cedric nodded, coming to stand at Harry's right, holding his hand out. "I am. Cedric Diggory, nice to meet you."

Sykes tipped his chin once, but made no move to shake Cedric's hand. "I need to speak with my housemate. Would you mind?"

Cedric blinked several times before finding his voice. "Er – sure. Harry, I'm going to go put my broom in the shed. Would you like to –"

"We will be returning to our common room, Diggory," Sykes interposed, not unrudely. "Waiting up for him would be unwise."

Cedric let out a small noise of incredulent protest. "Whatever," He sighed. "See you at dinner, mate."

Harry nodded, patting the boy on the shoulder with his spare hand. His eyes, however, were fixed on his house's prefect.

"Let's get one thing straight, Sykes," Harry said lowly as his eyes flashed. "You do not order around or dismiss my friends. I don't care how old you are and if you're a Prefect; I won't stand for it."

Sykes clucked his tongue, shaking his head as he led Harry up the path back to the castle.

"I told you to come get me so I could see you fly," Sykes remarked, ignoring Harry's statement. "But now that I've watched you, I wanted to tell you my decision before I revealed it to the rest of the Slytherins."

Harry kicked a rock out of his way, looking up speculatively. "You're…decision, huh?" He said.

Sykes nodded once more. "I am in charge of filling the Slytherin Quidditch team in case you had forgotten. It was the stipulation in my duel with Flint?"

"I remember," Harry replied tersely. "But what does that have to do with me?"

A low laugh emitted from the older boy. "Ah…well, that shouldn't be hard to guess. After scouting the flying talent of our housemates, I've decided that two of the former players are simply outmatched."

"Wait – you mean there are better players?" Harry asked. "Why are they not on the team already?"

"Buddies of Marcus Flint's," Sykes muttered, looking seriously down at Harry. "Flint, as Captain of the team, had a great deal of power, Potter. If he claimed that his two friends were worthy of being on the team, who would know any better?

"Perception is controlled by those in power, Potter. Once that power was taken away from Flint, I have revealed the truth. The truth is that there are two better flyers who are more worthy of being on the team."

"And who might those two be?" Harry asked shrewdly. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Margaret Whittingale, fifth year," Sykes said assuredly. "She'll be replacing Adrian Pucey as a chaser this season."

"And the other?" Harry asked heavily after a long pause.

"Why, you of course," Sykes grinned, his hazel eyes narrowing in humor. "You will be playing seeker, taking Terence Higgs' position."

Harry sighed inaudibly, looking up at the castle as they approached. He knew that had been coming. Was he ready to play Quidditch? Did he even _want_ to?

"Well, that will probably make my life more difficult," Harry stated dryly. "I'm sure Flint will just _love_ having a first year on his team."

Sykes tapped him on the back, a small laugh meeting a satisfied grin. "That's the thing, Potter; it isn't his team. It's mine. And while your addition will piss him off to no end, you are truthfully the best flyer I've seen from our house. I mean that."

Harry shook his head. "But I've never played Quidditch – hell, I haven't even flown before getting to Hogwarts –"

"Which makes me even surer that I've made the right decision," Sykes stated firmly. "I'm not a Quidditch junkie either. I took the Quidditch captaincy from Flint because I knew it was his most prized possession. Kicking his friends off the team tonight will be icing on the cake. Besides, all you've got to do is catch the Snitch like you were doing with your…Hufflepuff friend. You'll be fine, kid – I'll make sure of it."

Harry sighed once more. Honestly, he didn't mind that much that Sykes had picked him to play on the team. He was sure that he would excel because that was simply what he did. He would refuse to be mediocre. However, his presence on the team would draw the ire of several upper years – something he was loathe to let happen at this early on in his schooling. Who knew what spells and deeds the upper years were capable of casting and committing?

"…Who will run the practices?" Harry asked, his voice a bit flat, reserved of the fate that was out of his control.

Sykes shrugged before reaching out to ruffle Harry's hair. "I'll get Hooch to do it or something. Like I said, I know very little in terms of tactics and strategy regarding Quidditch. She would do a much better job than I."

Harry glared at the boy, parting and flattening the hair on the back of his head. "Another thing, Sykes – don't touch my hair."

Sykes produced another of his patented smirks, the left corner of his mouth drawing up into his cheek. "And how do you plan to stop me?" He goaded softly.

"I can certainly think of a few things," Harry said mutinously, drawing his wand as the other boy reached out.

His reaction earned a laugh. "Big bad firstie!" Sykes taunted. "I'll definitely learn my lesson, eh?"

"You don't even know what I'm capable of, Sykes," Harry muttered. "I suggest you heed my warning."

Perhaps it was the look on his face that made the prefect pause. Either way, he raised his arms placatingly, a softer smile emerging on his countenance.

"I hear you," Sykes said. "And, Potter? Thank you for your…cooperation. If you need anything regarding the team or otherwise, let me know."

Harry's eyes narrowed, but he let the statement wash over him. Perhaps this wasn't such a bad thing. With Sykes currently in power within the house, having his help was certainly an advantage.

Flying wasn't exactly a bad thing, either.

"I appreciate it," Harry said. "So how is this going to go?"

"Well…I'm going to announce my decision right now before dinner," Sykes grinned. "So I hope you're ready."

Harry stopped for a second to look at the older boy.

"Fuck," muttered Harry.

* * *

"Wait – so you are really the new seeker?" Blaise asked lowly.

Harry stabbed a small portion of his potato before nodding quickly.

"And it's supposed to remain in house, remember?" Harry reminded the boy.

The looks he had received in the common room upon Sykes' announcement were chilling to say the least. Many older years looked at him dismissively, but some of the expressions were jealous and spiteful. Hell, Flint had appeared absolutely murderous.

Which is why Harry had left the common room with his friends, avoiding the older years as quickly as possible. He did not need to test their abilities two months into his first year, thank you.

Draco had been quiet but supportive. If Harry was reading the boy correctly, the Malfoy heir was angry, but not at him.

"I really have no idea how this is going to go, though," Harry sighed. "Obviously, I've got to come through and play well if I want to get the upper years off my back, but I've never even seen a Quidditch match, let alone played in one."

"My father is friends with Royce Beeler, the Windborne Wasps' seeker," Draco said, speaking up at last. "If you'd like, I can see if he would be willing to talk to you."

Harry smiled softly at Draco. "That'd be brilliant, mate. Thanks."

"Sykes is an idiot," Parkinson said loudly from down the table. "Putting a first year on the Quidditch team. Why on earth did he think that would be a good idea?"

Harry saw as the Ravenclaws at the next table over turned to look curiously at the girl. He bared his teeth at the girl, making a shushing motion with his hand. Parkinson only sneered back, malevolence in her eyes.

"Potter won't even be able to see with those ridiculous glasses," She continued. "Let alone catch a Snitch."

"Potter's your seeker?" A Ravenclaw interrupted, looking down the table at Harry.

Parkinson nodded in disgust. "Pathetic, isn't it? We've held the Quidditch Cup for over a decade, and it's ruined by the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Cunt," Harry stated matter-of-factly, drawing a laugh from Theo and a horrified glance from Draco. Blaise raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"There goes the 'in-house' secret," muttered Harry, watching the damn Ravenclaws spread that bit of news. "Let's just eat and get out of here."

That would be more difficult than it sounded, however. Harry was interrupted from his meal by a tap on his shoulder.

Ron Weasley stood there, an incredulous look marring his freckled features.

"Seeker?" He questioned. "You?"

Harry set his fork down quickly as Draco stood, drawing his wand and sneering at the Gryffindor.

"Yes him," Draco stated maliciously. "Because he has actual talents, unlike you."

"Bugger off, Malfoy," Weasley snarled. "I wasn't talking to you."

Draco made a wild sound, stepping in front of Harry. "But you are now, aren't you, you blood traitor? Go hug a muggle and get out of my face."

Weasley reddened, but his blue eyes flashed. "Quite a pair of stones you got," He muttered. "I bet you'd go running to daddy if there was an actual fight though."

"Draco!" Harry snapped quickly. He had watched Draco's fingers tighten on his wand and his shoulder twitch. The last thing he needed was to get in trouble for hexing the boy.

"Are you siding with this idiot, Harry?" Draco growled. "This piece of dragon dung?"

"Spoiled brat," Weasley shot back.

"Son of a who-"

"Enough!" said Harry, grabbing Draco's arm. The flash of satisfaction crossing Weasley's face, however, brought Harry's anger with the boy to the surface. Harry stepped up to the Gryffindor, well aware of the attention they were drawing, both from students and from the faculty.

"If you want or expect an apology from me, Weasley, you can forget it," Harry whispered, looking over the top of his glasses at the boy. "If I wanted you hurt, I'd do it myself. Let me warn you right now – you couldn't hold a candle to me, Weasley. If I wanted to prank you, you would be miserable. If I wanted you afraid, you'd be pissing your trousers. If I wanted you hurt, I'd string you up by those raggedy robes you're wearing and I'd beat the living shit out of you. So if you have any common sense, you'll listen carefully to this bit: if you care about yourself at all, you will leave me and my friends alone."

Harry watched, maliciously satisfied as the boy's eyes widened in fear. However, he also noticed the boy raising his wand.

Harry's temper boiled over like one of Longbottom's cauldrons in Potions class. Who…how dare this kid raise his wand? To _him_?

Harry swiped his hand out, batting at the wand as if it were a fly. The wand in question went twisting through the air, falling far down the aisle in a noisy clatter.

Wandless. He had done that wandlessly. A grin found his countenance as Weasley backed up a step.

"Do you get it now?" Harry questioned softly, noticing Professor Snape gliding quickly over to the two of them. "It's not that you aren't on my level, Weasley; you're not even on the level below me. Stay out of my way and leave my friends alone. If not, you'll regret it."

With a final smirk, Harry turned and walked away from the stunned boy, leaving Draco to deal with Snape. That was probably for the best, right? As Snape's godson, Draco would have a better time of explaining the situation.

The Great Hall had been remarkably quiet as he had left, Harry mused. Obviously, such a confrontation would draw attention, but it seemed that more people had been watching than he thought. And honestly, did that even matter?

The small swishing feeling inside his robes reminded him of why he had left the hall, however. For nearly a month, Harry had kept several items on him at all times – not only because their presence was handy, but because their discovery by anyone else would be awkward, to say the least. In the inner chest pocket of his robes, Harry kept the extra bottle of Runespoor venom. Beside it sat a magically shrunken unicorn horn.

Why did he keep the two ingredients of the Ritual of Physical Potential on hand? Well, why wouldn't he? For the past couple of weeks, performing the ritual had weighed heavily on his mind. Harry…did not want to kill a centaur so selfishly, but in the past few hours, things had changed.

He was now on the Quidditch team, facing students much older than himself. That didn't really bother Harry, but the dissention that his selection could possibly cause in Slytherin did. Negative attention would not be good in any way, especially when his plans were considered. He could not be deemed _weak – _certainly not now_._

That was simply the way it was; Harry had no turbulent feelings over the Quidditch thing, but the sheer _audacity_ of Ron Weasley to raise his wand on him…

'_Absolutely unacceptable_,' Harry thought, taking his first step back onto the dewy grounds. A chilly day had given way to a cold night. Harry lazily watched his breath frost in front of him, refusing to rise to anger again.

He had used his wandless magic to show that boy who was really in charge. This went beyond grades and a spell vocabulary. This was about power.

It was about time others respected his power.

The upper years in Slytherin did not respect him outside of how his grades reflected on the house. Hell, even Sykes thought he could get away with bullying his friends and treating him as a child. They certainly did not respect his flying abilities. Therefore, he would prove them wrong.

He couldn't help but feel contempt for all of them, though. His friends, who were around him enough to see what he was capable of, knew to respect him. But these other…children were ignorant. It was his job to teach them.

Perhaps it was how he looked – like the eleven year old, circular glasses wearing, messy hair with bangs kid that he was. What they didn't see was the runes etched onto his forearms. What they didn't see was the magic that he could do.

What they did not know was that he had killed. Already.

So why was he so uptight about killing a damn centaur? Truthfully, it was because he did not want to do it so selfishly. But the students of Hogwarts had changed his perception. Was it selfish? A little bit. But more than anything, his presence was going to change the Wizarding World – he knew it, and even Dumbledore had acknowledged it. It was time others knew it as well.

Which led him to the trees in front of him, gnarled and twisted in ways that were similar to the biscuit tin he had transfigured for Professor McGonagall in class that day. The Forbidden Forest.

It was time.

If was time for him to take over his life. It was time to get rid of his damn glasses. It was time to _look_ like a person who others shouldn't mess with.

The forest was quiet, as though the cold had sent all the animals into hibernation for the night. Harry reveled in the quiet crunching of freshly fallen leaves under his feet. The gentle noise comforted him and tightened his resolve. Where would he find a centaur? Who knew? How would he go about restraining one?

He would deal with all of that when the time came. He passed the clearing where he would perform the ritual, not nearly as lit up as from his last ritual. The clouds hung in front of a waning moon, blocking the moonlight from reaching the clearing. Harry continued walking straight past the clearing and deeper into the woods, the trees growing denser and more gnarled as he walked. A small trail of spiders scuttled past, moving from his right to his left.

"_Lumos_," Harry muttered, enjoying the rush of feeling as he held his wand aloft. A soft pit-patter from in front of him drew his attention, forcing Harry to stop. The muscles in his back tightened slightly in anticipation; inside this forest, a "soft pit-patter" could be literally anything. He remained silent, and the noise grew.

Slowly, through a small parting of trees and underbrush, two hooves revealed themselves, attached to sturdy, brown legs.

A centaur. Wasn't that _perfect_?

The centaur's equine body gave way to the sculpted torso and upper limbs of a man. Lines on the centaur's face marked his age, putting him well into his "middle years," whatever they were for a centaur. The centaur's light blond hair was swept back over the top of its head, bound at the nape of his neck. The feature that drew Harry in, however, was the crisp, bright blue eyes of the centaur.

"Good evening, young foal," the centaur said softly, swishing his tail as he approached Harry. "You have come quite far into this forest tonight."

Harry swallowed quickly before nodding. "Yes, sir – I needed to get away from the castle for a little bit."

The eerie blue eyes were unblinking, evaluating Harry. In return, Harry attempted not to fidget under their scrutiny.

Why did it feel like this centaur knew his intentions?

"The stars have told me much about you, Harry Potter," Damn those eyes, they _still_ had not blinked. "Of you, and your future."

"Hopefully they've told you good things," Harry joked. The centaur, however, did not laugh.

"Shall we proceed?" The centaur's pectorals flexed in anticipation, but Harry felt that he was missing something.

"…What is your name, if you wouldn't mind me asking?" Harry asked with narrowed eyes. Honestly, something was _wrong_ with this centaur.

"I am known amongst my people as Tuscas," the centaur Tuscas revealed. "But you are not here to exchange pleasantries, are you, foal?"

"How would you know, Tuscas?"

"The sun, or the light, or the moon, or the stars," Tuscas softly sounded. "Be not darkened. Certainly not by clouds, I assure you."

"That makes absolutely no se-"

"Shall we proceed?" Tuscas interrupted gently.

Harry goggled at the centaur – he had never, in all his life, felt so out of control of a conversation. "What do you mean?"

Tuscas walked forward, the weight of his hooves echoing in Harry's ears. "The heavens have told me much of my own fate," Tuscas said solemnly, his icy blue eyes causing Harry more unsettlement than he would like to admit. "And even more about yours."

Did – did this centaur _know_? The heavens? The stars? Did they really reveal that much to this creature?

_Shall we proceed?_

"Er-yeah," Harry said, clearing his throat and focusing back on the centaur. "If…if you'd follow me, that would be good."

Harry turned slowly, his eyes still cast on the centaur – Tuscas – as he walked back the way he had come. The centaur dutifully followed along in silence.

This was _bizarre_. If this centaur truly knew what he was planning to do…if this centaur knew what the cost would be for himself…

_'Don't think too much about it,'_ Harry told himself firmly. _'However it is that he knows, he knows_._'_

Tuscas. He would not refer to the centaur as anything other than his given name. Harry was no animal; if Tuscas was willing to sacrifice what he seemed to be willing to sacrifice, then all Harry could give him was respect.

Harry sighed silently, shaking his head as he looked back to Tuscas, who had his icy eyes focused on him. He was messed up in the head, wasn't he?

The clearing was even darker than it had been twenty minutes ago. "We're here," Harry called softly. Tuscas trotted from behind him to settle in the middle of the clearing.

"Let me know if you require any help," said Tuscas, causing Harry to mentally cringe. Of all the things of a creature in Tuscas' position to say…

"I should be fine. Just give me a few moments to prepare."

The ritual was ingrained in Harry's memory, from its preparation to its procedure. The amount of times he had reread that excerpt from the ritual book that Lucius had lent him were innumerable. Two Deltas. Nine lines, three for each Delta and three to connect the vertices. The venom. The horn. The centaur.

The lines were easily measured with his wand to the necessary lengths. With a swish of his wand, the unicorn horn had reverted to full size. With it and the aid of his wand's measurements, all of the necessary lines were drawn.

In a few moments, he'd need the unicorn horn again.

Harry uncorked the Runespoor's venom, his nose scrunching at the volatile, acidic scent permeating from the bottle. Careful to avoid touching the liquid, Harry poured the substance into the lines at the lower left corner of the outer Delta. The electric blue liquid spread out along the lines, but quickly gathered at the point of the Delta.

'_That's unnatural, but kind of cool_,' Harry observed, rising once more to gesture to Tuscas. The centaur nodded and walked slowly to the apex of the Delta.

Harry looked down at the unicorn horn resting into his hands. The unblemished white, wiped clean of the silvery blood that had originally tarnished the pure horn, shined innocently, despite the lack of light. Soon, his blood would mar the horn once again.

Harry took a shaky breath. Was he really doing this? Right now? Was he really going to kill a centaur-Tuscas, further corrupt the pure horn of a unicorn, dirty the venom of a Runespoor for his own gain?

"Why not," Harry muttered. If regret would be his curse, he'd deal with it in the morning.

The pointed end of the horn was fiercely sharp, slicing through his left palm with ease. Harry drew the horn down the line that started under his index finger and ended on the opposite side as his thumb, and blood pooled rapidly at the base of his wrist.

Shockingly, Harry discovered as he cut through the palm of his left hand, there was no pain. Whether was caused by his adrenaline or the horn, he could not decipher. Harry looked back at the horn in his hand, coated with rich, red blood, and placed it point down at the right vertex of the outer Delta.

Harry then walked over, upturning his hands to let the blood pooling there fall and mix with the Runespoor venom. A soft hissing sound was made, but there was no other observable difference.

And now, Tuscas.

Harry approached the centaur, his wand held between his thumb and index finger to avoid the blood.

"To do this ritual properly, you have to be tied down to the vertex," Harry said quietly. "Would you mind if I cast the spell to do so?"

Sharp, clear blue eyes met his. "By all means, Harry Potter."

Harry shut his eyes briefly, mourning what was about to happen to the centaur he had so quickly come to respect. Make no mistake – he was absolutely mystified and confused by the creature's actions, but he respected the resolve and…purpose that Tuscas emitted.

"_Incarcerous_," Harry breathed.

Ropes wound their way around Tuscas' neck, his underarms, and waist before attaching themselves to the pinnacle of the outer Delta.

Harry tossed his wand aside, along with it his robe and shoes. Was that necessary? No, but Harry had grown sick of wearing them.

He reached out with bloody hands, smearing them on the shoulders and pectorals of Tuscas. Harry found himself unable to meet the eyes that were following his every movement.

"Freedom, forevermore," Tuscas whispered into the wind. "Freedom, forevermore."

"…Yeah," Harry agreed awkwardly, turning to make his way back to his Delta, the inner Delta. Harry kneeled down, bowing his head.

How did it go, again?

""Dona mihi usum," Harry intoned, looking back at the venom now pulsing madly in the left vertex. "Dona mihi vitam."

The horn swirled in place as a line of pure magic connected it to the Runespoor venom. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck quickly stood on edge and with them a sense of intense foreboding. Harry looked up, strong eyes meeting his for a final time.

"Victoriam dona mihi!"

Lines of magic pulsed erratically, Screams were made, and Harry saw stars. His head, his bones, his muscles – all of them burned with a fire that he could not see. His screams echoed loudly amongst the trees before he gritted his teeth to stop them.

His screams were nothing compared to Tuscas'.

Harry looked up to see the centaur thrashing jerkily within his confines. Where Harry's blood had once rested, severe burns had taken their place, bubbling the centaur's skin with an unidentified heat.

The view horrified Harry, but he could not look away. Tuscas' eyes had rolled back and blood poured from his scalp and eyes. The pristine coat of his lower body now fell away from its roots, leaving naked skin to bubble and boil.

"Potter! Wha-what are you doing?!"

Harry looked up quickly to see a flash of red hair, sprinting across the clearing towards Tuscas as he screamed out in agony. Harry's eyes widened as the boy drew nearer.

"Ron, don't!"

The boy quickly approached the left side of the Delta. As he did, he was launched back in an explosion of magic, sparking in a multitude of violent colors.

Harry cried out harshly as the pain intensified. He drowned in that pain, in the shifting and pulling and twisting and _correcting_ and the world fell silent.

"Ron," Harry moaned. "You fucking idiot; why on earth would you do that?"

He rolled to his right, struggling to sit up. Once he did, however, the sight that met him was not pretty.

And fuzzy.

Harry removed his glasses, allowing himself a small feeling of triumph, before moving his eyes to view the charred corpse of Tuscas. It remained at the pinnacle of his Delta, lying in a useless heap, much less glorious than its previous form.

Where the unicorn horn had rested, there was now a pile of ashes – pure, white ashes, but ashes nonetheless. The venom was completely gone.

When Harry looked to his left, however, the body of Ron Weasley lay motionless, spread-eagle on the ground.

"Shit."

"Well said, Harry Potter…well said indeed."

Harry turned, quickly, ignoring the burn of his muscles to meet the eyes looking back at him.

Red eyes.

"My, my," Professor Quirrell remarked quietly, his eyes scanning the fallen form of the youngest Weasley before settling once again on Harry, a pleased grin to match. "Someone has been quite busy."

* * *

**The grin that Voldemort has? Yeah, mine matches it right now. Let me know if there are any typos, errors, or random notes littering the chapter and I'll correct them tomorrow. **

**So...do you like cliff hangers? Huh? Do yah?**

**I do. So I gave you one. Aren't I lovely?**

**If you want the next chapter quickly- and believe me, you do - throw an author a review, eh?**

**Now that I'm out of school, though, I plan to give you a chapter once every week or so. Of course, life always likes to mess up brilliant plans like that.**

**Oh well. Until next time.**

**Brigade**

**P.S. I almost forgot to add this, but it was something I had been thinking about. A lot of times, life happens and I do not necessarily have a way of communicating to you all that I am still working on a chapter. The solution I thought up would be a Twitter account for the story. Do you guys like that idea?**

**I can throw out teasers or whatever, and generally give you daily updates on when the next chapter would be out. That all depends on you though. If you like the idea, tell me and I'll set it up. If not, it's all good.**


	14. Dealing with the Devil

**AN: This chapter had to be absolutely perfect (and yet, I haven't proofread it...huh) so it took longer than anticipated. Whatever, right? **

**Chapter 14 - probably the halfway point in Harry's first year. Put on your big kid pants, boys and girls - this chapter is entirely Harry and Voldemort. ENTIRELY. All I can say is...if you have questions, ask, and enjoy the chapter.**

* * *

**Chapter 14: Dealing with the Devil**

Harry grimaced slightly as he rubbed the dirt off his fingers, but he never dared to take his eyes off Professor Quirrell. The man in question had turned away from him briefly, leisurely moving to examine the body sprawled out in the dirt.

Harry's heart raced and his muscles burned, especially the ones in his calves has he pushed himself off the ground. The situation – was not good at all. Quirrell, a bloody _teacher_, had discovered him in the midst of a ritual. Harry had as good as murdered a centaur in his presence; and who knew what shape Weasley was in? The damned idiot had to go any make everything worse, didn't he?

"Not the brightest boy, is he?" Professor Quirrell questioned lightly, nudging Weasley's face with the end of his boot.

Harry watched on in silence as he edged imperceptibly towards his wand, lying innocently a few feet away.

Or rather, almost imperceptibly, it seemed.

Professor Quirrell's head snapped quickly back to Harry. Through the shadows, Harry could make out the traces of a grin. It was hard to miss those eyes, as well.

"Now, now, Harry, do you really wish to pick a fight this early on?" Professor Quirrell goaded softly, slowly turning to face him.

"Considering the fact that you have attacked me every damn time we meet, it's probably my turn to turn the tables, right?" Harry gritted out, balling bloody fists at his sides.

Professor Quirrell tipped his head in acknowledgement, taking assured strides to approach Harry. In turn, Harry's body tensed as his scar seared with a sudden pain. If the man tried to vanish on him again…

"Tell me something…Harry," Professor Quirrell drawled, face to face with the boy. "Do you even know to whom you are speaking?"

Harry scoffed, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders. "Quirinus Quirrell – former Muggle Studies professor, and a rubbish Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

"_Wrong_."

Harry raised his eyebrows, silently urging the man on. Instead, a dark chuckle was all he received in response.

"The Weasley child had a dog with him," Professor Quirrell said. "Very amusing, isn't it, that the dog had the common sense to turn and flee when Ronald Weasley himself did not? Look at him now…lifeless."

Harry ignored the jolt of dread that raced down his spine. He was not happy with the boy, but he really hadn't meant to _kill_ him.

"So he's dead then?" He eventually managed to get out. Professor Quirrell raised an amused eyebrow, but it seemed that the man refused to answer that question as well.

"That is not important," Professor Quirrell said, surprising Harry. Really, the boy's life was "not important?"

The red eyes locked onto his own were shining in eagerness. "Let us instead talk, Harry Potter. If I were to ask you how you managed to survive a Killing Curse cast by the most powerful wizard in the world, what would your answer be?"

Harry looked down, the intensity of the red eyes and the danger in the man's voice rattling his senses. Regrouping himself quickly, Harry steeled his expression, looking up once more. "I'd say that I couldn't be sure, but the wizard got what he deserved, trying to off me."

In three quick strides, Harry found himself looking up into Professor Quirrell's darkly amused face. Harry's eyebrows knitted together as the pain originating in the scar on his forehead hit a crescendo.

"And if that wizard who, as you say, 'got what he deserved,' stood in front of you today," Professor Quirrell murmured, so softly that it was nearly a whisper. "Would you say the same?"

Vaguely, Harry noticed that his breath was coming quicker in short pants. The weight of his legs, astonishingly, seemed to have disappeared with a Feather-light Charm. Despite this, Harry felt the stirrings of anger. Professor Quirrell was toying with him again.

_Again_.

"Yes," Harry spoke through gritted teeth. "And if he was standing in front of me, I'd ask him what the hell he was thinking, planning to kill off a toddler."

Harry flinched violently as a hand came down to pat him on the shoulder. Regrouping once more, Harry realized that Professor Quirrell was laughing at him.

_Laughing_!

"Harry Potter, you are not even aware of how much I admire you," Professor Quirrell said, shaking his head in mirth. "Enough of these games, then - Lord Voldemort, at your service."

What. The. _Fuck_?

Harry took an involuntary step back, tripping on the heap that was his discarded robe. A quick hand grasped his wrist, pulling him even more quickly back to a vertical base. The red eyes of…Lord Voldemort?...stared back at him, even more amused than before.

"Perhaps 'at your service' is a bit of a lie," Voldemort continued, as if Harry had not tripped and interrupted him. "I serve no one – it works the other way around."

The blasted eyebrow was raised in Harry's direction once again. "Please do tell me when you've pulled yourself together, Harry Potter; we have much to discuss."

To say that Harry's emotions were turbulent would be a gross understatement. The fear and anxiety of having another – two others, at that – bear witness to his ritual was unsettling. Even more so, that unsettlement mixed with anger, frustration, and the combination frayed at his nerves.

This man…the man standing in front of him, wearing the appearance of another, was as dangerous and powerful as they came. Harry could almost sense the man's power through the goose bumps lining his skin, pulling his skin taut and forcing his muscles to tense even more.

What was he supposed to feel? Awe? Contempt? Lord Voldemort had singled him out, a courtesy that Harry was sure would flatter many people, with the desire to…talk? Is that truly all the man wanted? Harry let out a small snort of air through his nostrils. Of course that wasn't all he wanted; the man was a Dark Lord – a leader, an aspiring _ruler_.

More than anything, one thought lingered in the forefront of Harry's mind.

"You killed my parents," Harry stated matter-of-factly.

A twitch of thin lips gave way to a humoring nod. "Yes. I did."

Harry looked up into remorseless red eyes. He took a deep breath and turned away, reaching down to the ground. That utterance was all that was needed for an emotion to rule his actions.

That emotion was anger.

Scooping up his wand from the pile of his discarded items, Harry arched his lower back, moving to stand upright. A wand, however, jabbed at his neck.

Harry glared back at Voldemort's daring expression, his upper lip quivering with restrained malice.

"Do you want an apology?" Lord Voldemort asked callously, inspecting the fingernails of his left hand. "I could give you one, if that would settle the matter; however, the apology would be completely insincere."

The anger in Harry's heart bubbled over, making itself known in his throat. "I don't want an apology, Voldemort; I want retribution."

The man scoffed, digging his wand into the side of his neck. "For what? For an act committed a decade ago? For a crime in which I have already suffered a fate worse than death for? Harry Potter, if anything, I deserve recompense for what _you_ have caused."

Harry's mouth fell open on its own accord. "You think I owe _you_? Bullshit. Absolute bullshit. You come into my house, annihilating the only chance I would ever have at a normal life, and you demand payment from me? You're mental, Voldemort."

"It is only through my grace, my _mercy_, Harry Potter, that you are still breathing," Lord Voldemort snapped. "And do you really wish you that you had had a 'normal' upbringing? That is neither here nor there, however…you say you have no idea how you survived my Killing Curse and I believe you. In fact," he lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. "I don't think you'd be so lucky as to survive another one. What do you say we test that theory, Harry? Feeling up to defying the laws of nature once more?"

Harry ignored his fleeting heart. "Go ahead," He goaded the man. "Try it. I'll make sure you regret this one as well, you bastard."

The wand at his neck prodded painfully at his trachea for a moment before being pulled away. The dratted grin was back on Voldemort's face, all traces of anger gone.

"A bastard," The man nodded. "Yes, I am most certainly that."

Harry rubbed at his throat with his left hand, his right coming up with his wand to point at the man in front of him.

"I killed my own father, if it is any consolation," Lord Voldemort revealed smugly. "A muggle of the worst sort. He turned his back on my mother and on me before I was even born."

Harry listened in silence, his anger slowly leaving him as self-preservation kicked in. Honestly, what had he been thinking trying to pick a fight? That was no way to get out of this unscathed. Voldemort, it seemed, was invested in his own story.

"My mother…she was no angel, either," Voldemort continued, shaking his head in ironic humor. "A squib, or nearly one. Foolishly, she enslaved my father, having no hope of seducing the man of her desires herself.

"My parents' incompetence landed me in an orphanage where I spent the first eleven years of my existence – oh, I see I have your attention now, don't I, Harry? We are so similar, after all. Both powerful, both originating from unseemly backgrounds – does your contempt for the non-magical population run as deeply as my own, I wonder? Being raised amongst the dogs, it is hard not to develop that ire, that itch that cannot be scratched."

Lord Voldemort had begun pacing with his speech, but now stared again into the boy's eyes.

"We even look something similar, as you will see when I regain my own body," Voldemort acknowledged. "And through all of this, Harry – from our first meeting until now – I have done whatever possible to aid you in your own discovery of magic."

Harry shook his head in denial. "Lucius Malfoy provided me with the book on ritualism. Severus Snape…I think he knows what I am doing. During class a while back, he had us brew a potion that required Runespoor's venom. What have you done?"

A pleased grin marred Voldemort's face. "Who ordered Lucius Malfoy to provide you those books? Who revealed to Severus Snape the need for you to obtain Runspoor's venom? Who provided the unicorn horn that you have neglected to mention? I did.

"I have watched you perform each of your three rituals, Harry. I have kept an eye on you from your first day at Hogwarts until now." The sadistic grin morphed into a satisfied smirk. "I even provided you with the runes for your second ritual."

"No," Harry whispered softly. That was Dumbledore. Right? And Lucius said he no longer followed Voldemort!

Voldemort tilted his head to the side. "What use is having a full-fledged Potions Master as a follower if you are not going to use his talents, Harry? Polyjuice is such a simple disguise, and so easily overlooked when one has the ability to _act_."

Harry looked down, the edges of the runes on his forearms peeking out of the rolled up sleeves of his shirt.

"Looking for _lessons_, are you, Harry?" Voldemort smiled.

Harry ignored the man – he _was_, but from Voldemort? "Why did you pick these, then? Constancy, responsibility, what do they mean to you?" Harry questioned.

Voldemort chuckled darkly. "Despite what I said earlier, I do not blame you, I hope you know," The man uttered softly, dismissing Harry's inquiries. "It would be so easy to hold a grudge, Harry, but the fault lies with me. More than anything, your ambition to succeed has placated my anger. You live, and have not wasted your life wandering about."

"I made a mistake, that night. What exactly that mistake was, I still am not sure. Inexplicably, you survived when I turned my wand to you, and you caused me the most pain I have ever experienced. Ahhh…such pain, certainly beyond tolerance – but I withstood it and was ripped from by body as it turned to ash, condemning me to a miserable existence. As I said, it would be only too easy to hold you accountable.

But I do not. You lived. I survived. And Quirinus Quirrell approached me, the weakling he is, hoping to use me to bolster his own reputation. And I couldn't stand for that, could I? He…lent me his body, but has since betrayed my good will."

Harry could barely keep track of the man's words; watching the man pace had left him disoriented. Pinching the bridge of his nose to lose that sense of dizziness, Harry asked the question prevalent in his mind: "So is he alive?"

Lord Voldemort tapped his chest lightly with both hands. "In this body? Yes, he is alive – but only just."

"What have you been up to since then? Surely you are not here by coincidence?" Harry questioned, gesturing vaguely with his wand hand. He had to stifle the sense of outrage he felt when Voldemort did not so much as tense at the motion. Damned Dark Lord…

At Voldemort's pleased expression, dread formed in the pit of Harry's stomach. Surely nothing good could come from that look.

"Understand, Harry, that before Quirrell had approached me, I was forced to use to the bodies of animals to sustain myself. I was in no position to do anything else. However, when Quirrell arrived, so _generously_ offering himself to me," Voldemort's grin was positively ferocious at these words. "I was finally given the opportunity to do more than simply exist.

"Overpowering the man was only too easy. Quirrell is untalented, he cannot tolerate pain, and he's weak. After defeating the pathetic man, I turned my sights to bigger goals."

Harry stiffened, watching warily as Voldemort approached him once more.

"Do you know what is inside the castle at this very moment, Harry Potter, tucked away and hidden from the rest of the world?" Lord Voldemort murmured lowly as he rubbed the fingers of his left hand together, as if imagining whatever the object was was resting in his palm.

"The Philosopher's Stone, Harry," He continued unblinkingly, gazing directly into Harry's eyes. "A stone of mystical properties – a stone that will restore my body to me. It was my intention to obtain the Philosopher's Stone before Albus Dumbledore could procure it, but I was unsuccessful."

Harry mind jolted to life when he considered the man's words. "You mean Gringotts, right?"

Voldemort tilted his head downwards in acknowledgement, his red eyes locked onto him under harsh eyebrows.

"So you want the Philosopher's Stone," Harry repeated, imagining such a stone as he spoke. Honestly, he wouldn't mind having a stone like that, himself – and he still wasn't even sure what it was, either. "But you've failed to explain what that has to do with me. You've confronted me several times, going so far as to attack me. You've been in contact with Snape and Lucius Malfoy. What do you _want_, Voldemort? What do you want from me?"

Red eyes flashed with unspoken plans and indecipherable ambitions. Voldemort took a step closer, standing toe to toe with Harry.

"I want a great many things, Harry Potter. I want to regain my body. I want to rule the Wizarding World. I want every man, woman, and child to recognize me as their master, their savior, and as their Lord who will lead them into a better world.

"But more than anything, Harry – right now, I'd like to negotiate."

Harry looked at Voldemort in disbelief.

"You've got a weird way of showing it," Harry said, snorting. "Let's hear it, then. I'm sure it will be good."

Voldemort smirked down at him before looking over his head out into the woods. "I have an offer for you, Harry – one that you should consider carefully. Recently, I came to the decision that Quirinus Quirrell is no longer a suitable host. The man was supposed to aid me in my attempt to obtain the Philosopher's Stone, but his effort has been…deplorable."

Voldemort looked at him once more. "And so, Quirrell will be disposed of. But you could perform much more competently than Quirinus Quirrell, couldn't you, Harry?"

Harry found himself grinning at the thought. "Could I? Definitely. But why would I want to help you, Voldemort? Do you realize what you are asking me to do? By helping you get your body back, I'd be restarting the war. I have no desire to do that, thanks."

Harry's nerves had calmed - as much as one's nerves could calm in the presence of Lord Voldemort, that is – and he found himself smiling. Voldemort was as good as asking for help. From him. That revelation left Harry…satisfied.

"You see, Voldemort," Harry whispered victoriously. "I'm the one in control, here. I'm the one with the leverage. Why should I help you? Why should I help the man who murdered my parents? You obviously need me much more than I need you."

If Harry could frame the scowl that was currently on Voldemort's face, he would have done so in a heartbeat. The moment he had the Lord Voldemort at his feet – framed in a picture.

"I…deeply respected your parents," Voldemort grunted out. "They were amongst the most dangerous witches and wizards that opposed me. And because of this, they forced my hand."

"Do you expect me to care?" Harry uttered mockingly, enjoying the look of contempt flashing across Voldemort's face. "I don't give a shit. But look at you – a Lord, bending his neck for help from a school boy. You are path-"

In a flash of force and pain, before Harry's brain could even process what had happened, Harry's back cracked soundly against the trunk of a tree. A hand clawed at his scalp, fisting his hair in a vise before Harry could even utter a sound.

Through the sharp pain searing through his spine and the red eyes nearly glowing in anger, Harry realized he had gotten carried away – way too carried away.

"I am the _fucking_ Dark Lord Voldemort," Voldemort growled, barring Quirrell's yellowed teeth. "And if you even _think_ you can get away with talking to me like that, you are woefully mistaken."

The muscles in Harry's neck cramped slightly under such a tight hold, but Harry was focused on one thing.

"How did you do that?" Harry gasped out. "You didn't even raise a hand. How does someone cast a spell without _casting a spell_?"

Harry looked up, aware that he was nearly touching foreheads with Voldemort, and the soft laugh his ears sensed brought back the fear Harry had originally experienced.

"After everything you've done in this forest," Voldemort nearly purred. "You still hold that silly notion that magic is cast only through the hands?"

"That's what the books the school's assigned all say," Harry defended, wincing as he arched his back. "I had assumed all magic was stored in the body and channeled through the arms and chest or whatever. I recall the term 'core' being used once or twice – "

"That term is completely inaccurate," Voldemort replied harshly. "What sense would it make for magical beings to 'store' magic? We are _magical_. Our magic runs through the body of its own volition. No part of the body is not saturated with magic."

"…Really?" Harry could not help but say, intrigue coloring his voice. "So how do we cast spells, exactly?"

The hand gripping Harry's hair loosened, but Voldemort's mutinous expression did not change. "The traditional manner of casting spells joins wand movements and incantations to fuel the formation of the spell. The wand movements are made to mimic patterned lines that appear in the runes that make up the spell."

Seeing Harry's puzzled expression, Voldemort elaborated. "For example, the Levitation Charm was created with two simple runes – the rune representing flight and the rune for constancy. The 'swishing motion' mimics the largest line in the rune for constancy, causing your magic to continue fueling the spell until purposefully ended. The 'flicking' motion imitates the origin line in the rune for flight."

"Origin line?" Harry asked hollowly.

Voldemort's upper lip curled in amusement, but he continued on in his explanation.

"Witches and wizards have a system much like the nervous system in their bodies – I assume you remember the nervous system from primary?"

Harry nodded slightly, spurring Voldemort on.

"Magic flows within the body through this system, but there are small points within the body where magic does tend to slow in its movements and build up. This phenomenon was first classified and labeled in the magical culture of ancient India as 'chakra.' There are a handful of these nodes within the body, and magic spreads from them, soaking every cell in the body from these points. As such, magic enters and exits the body mainly through chakra nodes. The main exception to this is that magic can leave the body through the blood; the circulatory system within the body is closely related to these chakra points and their passageways."

Harry found himself murmuring in amazement. "So spells can be cast from any of these points?

Red eyes relaxed as a lazy grin adorned Voldemort's face.

"And you wanted magical lessons from Albus Dumbledore," Voldemort uttered mockingly. "Why would you wish for lessons from him when a much more capable instructor stands before you?

Harry grimaced unpleasantly, drawing another dark laugh from Voldemort.

"I would not neglect mentioning any practices of magic, Harry – knowledge is power, and magic is power multiplied exponentially, after all. You desire to learn the Dark Arts? Done. Who has broached the depths that are the Dark Arts more than I? I've dabbled in Alchemy, Transmutation, Ritualism, Celtic and Druidic Magics, and more…much more. You require an instructor? Let me let you in on a secret, Harry – I've always desired a pupil for my teachings, but none have proven themselves worthy of me."

Voldemort ran his hands down the sleeves of Harry's shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles that his abrupt assault had caused, a fuliginous smile gracing his face.

"In return for your service, Harry, I will lend you my knowledge and expertise – both, you will soon find, are invaluable."

Harry's mind raced as he looked warily at the man in front of him. Ultimately, he was being offered knowledge in exchange for directly causing the Dark Lord to return.

Quite a difficult decision.

Would he be forced to choose a side? Would anyone know? Even more importantly, could he trust Lord Voldemort to honor the agreement and allow him to walk away unscathed?

Probably not.

"Okay," Harry muttered, doing his damnedest to keep the inner turmoil out of his expression. "I get a personal tutor while you get a mystical stone that gives you your body back; somehow, that doesn't seem quite fair, Voldemort. What else do you have for me?"

Lord Voldemort's eyebrows rose before a chuckle past from his lips. "What I've just offered you, Harry, my Death Eaters would kill for – "

"Your Death Eaters," Harry abruptly pointed out. "And they killed anyways. I'm not your follower, Voldemort, and I have no intention of becoming one. So pardon me if I ask for a bit more – a vow to neither infringe on my person or to harm me in any way for the duration of this…agreement would be a nice start."

Red eyes narrowed. "Done. I will not harm you – like I said, I have no intention of doing that –"

"And no one else can know," Harry intervened once more. "If we're to do this, I want no one else ever knowing it was I who brought you back."

"If you interrupt me again, you will regret it," Voldemort warned him lowly. A sharp brow perked suddenly. "You're quite the demanding little brat, aren't you?"

Harry shrugged, grinning boastfully. "I have all the leverage, don't I? Might as well milk it for all it's worth."

A chilling laugh rang out through the clearing as goose bumps made themselves known on Harry's skin. Voldemort swooped in quickly once more, an arm draping itself around Harry's suddenly tensed shoulders.

"Leverage," Voldemort grinned savagely. "Leverage, you say? Harry Potter – what leverage do you have now?"

"Wha-"

"_Avada Kedavra_."

Harry's heart fluttered as he felt the air around him displace and green light burst forth from the end of Voldemort's wand. Harry shuddered at the closeness of the spell as it made him feel sick. His eyes, however, widened as they tracked the spell. It sizzled through the air, passing like a bolt of lightning through the Deltas drawn from Harry's ritual, over the charred husk that was once Tuscas –

Right at the sprawled body of Ron Weasley.

The green light lifted the body from the leaves surrounding the boy, rolling the weight along the

"Y…y-you killed him," Harry cried, physically shaken. That spell, the Killing Curse…holy shit.

"Whoops," Voldemort uttered jeeringly. "Well, there goes that leverage, eh, Harry?"

Harry looked up into the satisfied face of a man that scared him. He shook of the arm from his shoulders, stepping quickly out of the man's reach to his left.

"Why would you do that?" Harry demanded. "Why kill him when he had nothing to do with this?"

"Who said I killed him?" Lord Voldemort laughed. "Did the boy twitch? How do you even know he was alive when I cast the curse? For all we know, you killed him, Harry.

"And now I grant you another offer on top of everything else: my knowledge, my protection, your wellbeing for the duration of the agreement – and now my help in covering up your…escapades in this clearing, including the body of Ronald Weasley."

"I can clean up the situation myself, thanks," Harry scowled scornfully.

"Can you?"

Voldemort's wand was pointing at him once more as Harry felt the air leave his lungs. Surely the man wouldn't…

"W-what an u-u-utter t-trav-travesty it would be," Voldemort stuttered gleefully, acting like the incompetent man he was possessing. "A b-boy as-assaulted in the F-f-for-forbidden Forest by a c-c-classmate – k-killed by a friend.

"You'd be locked up," Voldemort murmured, his red eyes showing no remorse as he stepped closer to Harry. "Shipped off to Azkaban before you could say 'Quidditch.' Is that really what you want, Harry Potter? Allow me to help you. Help yourself. Aid me in my quest. I will reward you like no others have ever been gifted. I could hand you anything and everything you desire. You are a remarkably bright boy; use that brain."

Harry's mind froze over as the seriousness of the situation settled before him; Ron was dead – either by his hand or Voldemort's. Voldemort, the most powerful Dark Wizard of the century had sought him out, promising gifts in return for his acquiescence – "graciously" forgiving him of his past transgressions. Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. That was probably not a good thing to do with Voldemort leering at him like that.

No one would know, right? If his safety was guaranteed, what could it _really_ hurt?

'_Hundreds upon thousands of people_,' Harry mentally sighed. But half of them would be muggles, right? Who cared about them?

Wait – what was Voldemort even striving to accomplish?

"What was the last war like?" Harry found himself asking. "Why did you start it? What do you want to accomplish?"

Voldemort nodded approvingly. "Very good questions. The last war – well, let me backtrack – I started collecting followers whilst I was a schoolboy at Hogwarts. They all desired my approval, my _friendship,_ and were willing to do my bidding to receive these gifts.

Ultimately, I came to the realization in my second year that I would have the opportunity to change the Wizarding World with my actions. Older students flocked to me, hoping to 'help' the young prodigy on his way to greatness. Girls wanted to date me, boys wanted to befriend me – everyone wanted a piece of molding the greatest wizard to ever pass through Hogwarts.

I poured my beliefs out to these people, Harry. They anointed me their leader. In Slytherin, the purebloods hoped for a wizard that would repeal many of the modern laws passed by the Wizengamot and the Ministry of Magic. Fortunately, Harry…I dream bigger than that."

Voldemort had begun pacing again and Harry hung on the man's every word. This…was not what he had expected.

Voldemort looked at Harry through hooded lids.

"I was born in the year 1926, Harry Potter. I grew up in the muggle world, watching them devolve into primates as they threw around their explosives, killing millions and millions.

"It was chaos, the World Wars," Voldemort continued softly. "I bore witness to what muggles were capable of. Mass murders without a thought. They kill out of fear and anger. If they were to discover us, Harry, a superior race living amongst them, how long would we last?"

Harry found himself nodding as Voldemort approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Red eyes met green, and no emotions disrupted the connection

"Magic is everything to me, Harry. Magic is why I exist – it is why I still live to this day. It is my culture, my religion, my past, present, and future. I will do _whatever_ is necessary to protect it. All of it.

"In the past century - not only in Britain, but in countries around the world - wizarding laws restricting interaction with muggles have become much more lax. We now pander to the muggleborns and the half-bloods, trying to incorporate their muggle relatives so that they may live vicariously through their children in our World. That is…unbelievably foolish.

"Throw into that that our British Ministry of Magic is incompetent, hypocritical, and all around _corrupt _– and imagine that, a Dark Lord calling politicians corrupt. It is about damn time someone did something about it."

Harry's eyes were wide and Voldemort spoke much more passionately.

"The 'victors' write history, Harry. When you 'defeated' me as an infant, the victorious side labeled me as a terrorist, a ruthless serial killer. I am neither of those things. I command respect. I wield magics of the most varied nature. I exemplify what we can become, and so do you, Harry! We have grown despite the pestilent environment that was our childhood. We have both seen what deplorable creatures the muggles are! We can do better – you and I! – we can give the witches and wizards of our country, our world, better lives! No longer will we hide in the shadows – this world is ours, and I intend to take it back!"

Mere inches separated them. Harry's breath came out in short pants that puffed fog into the air. Voldemort stood silently, leaning down and ruthlessly refused to look away.

"We can rule, Harry," Voldemort whispered. "We can be kings – gods, even – we can live forever. We can do _better_. All you have to do is follow me."

"We can do better," Harry whispered dazedly. He looked down at the hand outstretched, almost touching his chest.

_We can be kings – gods, even…_

Harry coughed and looked away.

"So…," He muttered, toeing at the dirt under his foot. "Back to this deal of yours. My body to host…you. You want the Philosopher's Stone and in return you will grant me your knowledge and tutor me in whatever I choose. You will promise me my health and your protection for the duration of our agreement as well as helping me clear up this lot," Harry waved vacantly to his ritual site and the body of Ron Weasley. "What do you plan to do about that, anyway?"

"_Avada Kedavra_."

Harry jumped forcefully, looking up as that unpleasant sensation of the Killing Curse being cast near him crept back into his body. Voldemort stood several paces back, pointing his wand overhead.

"Jesus Christ, Voldemort, that scared the shit out of me," Harry gasped.

Voldemort smirked in response. "Quirinus Quirrell, mentally unstable as he is, completely snapped. He kidnapped and murdered a student before committing suicide. The Wizarding World will roar in outrage, Albus Dumbledore will face an inquiry, and you will get off Scott free."

"Do we have a deal?" Voldemort smiled lazily.

"How will you…er – you know, split from Quirrell?" Harry winced.

A chilling grin formed on Voldemort's face. "Like this."

A dark hazy mist drifted out of the back of Quirinus Quirrell's turban and red eyes turned back to their original pale color. Suddenly, Quirrell started screaming in agony as tears fell. The black haze laughed with an eerie echo as Quirrell regained control of his body.

"H-Harry P-Potter," The man wept feebly. "P-Please help m-me. My insides – the hu-hurt…AHHHHHHHH!"

Harry watched in horror as the man slumped over and fell with a dull thud and his wand sparked before dying out.

"Okay," Harry stated, shaken by the ordeal. "You have to promise a less…lethal split form me than that as well."

The mist laughed again echoing through the forest. "Of course, Harry. Do we have a deal?"

Harry resented his emotions – they were driving him wild! Fear. Anxiety. Worry. Awe. Hope Motivation. If they would all simply stop for a second, maybe he could process what was happening.

Actually, he knew all too well what was happening. He was going to be the cause that started another war. At least it would be interesting.

"S-so how is this going to work?" Harry asked, his heart thumping in his chest wildly. The mist floated in front of him and Harry could have sworn he could make out two red eyes floating faintly in the mist.

"Just close your eyes, Harry, and leave the rest to me," Voldemort responded. Harry nodded, letting his eyes relax. Just before his eyelids shut, the black mist rushed forward rapidly, heading straight for him.

A sensation similar to being doused with cold water spread through his body, running up and down his limbs before settling in the back of his skull. Harry grit his teeth and scrunched his eyes closed, trying to fight off the dizziness that had settled over him.

The ground was moving underneath him as _something_ was happening in the back of his head. Harry staggered heavily, letting out a quick exhale. His senses failed him for a moment, and the next he knew, his cheek was resting in the dirt as Voldemort muttered words of encouragement in the back of his mind.

'_I've got you now. Relax – I'll handle everything. You will never regret this decision, Harry_.'

'_I'd better not_,' Harry countered before consciousness slipped from his grasp.

* * *

**Mischief Managed. **

**Man, that was hard to write. So many little intricacies and nuances that had to be considered - so many little details that needed to be touched upon but not fully discussed...it was a tough chapter to finish, let me assure you.**

**So! Harry found his "instructor." Ron is dead - and let me say, many of you were wishing death upon him. Tut, tut...not nice at all. Voldemort has gotten what he wanted, as well. The Philosopher's Stone is nearly within his grasp, Harry is (temporarily) under his command, and he's about to get his body back while having the chance to further corrupt Harry and his morals...perfect night for him**

**Several of you expressed interest in me making a Twitter account for the story, so I went ahead and did so. If you would like to follow the story, head to Twitter and type in "BrigadeEitD" in the search engine there. You should see the "red eye" photo.**

**If you don't have Twitter or don't want to follow the story, that's fine. However, if you'd like to see what I'm saying on there, you can just bookmark the page and check every now and again. If you have questions, you can reach me there or on this site. I'll endeavor to make sure everyone receives an answer.**

**You guys rock. I'm going to bed.**

**Regards,**

**Brigade**


	15. The Perspective is Switching

**New chapter. Finally. Jeeeeesus.**

**I had a tough time with this chapter - not only in finding time to write, but also in getting quality stuff on the proverbial paper. **

**Anyway, this chapter is basically the start of the storyline for the rest of this year for Harry. And it starts with dreams. Enjoy.**

**Oh, and if you'd like to receive updates and teasers for this story, you can follow it on Twitter at BrigadeEitD.**

**'kay. I'm finished promoting like a shameless whore now. Enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter 15: The Perspective is Switching**

Harry slithered through the decaying leaves, his body straining to continue on. The snake he was possessing was slowly losing its life, unable to contain his soul any longer. Anger and frustration bubbled within him; how was he supposed to reach the end of this bloody forest if no animals could safely host his soul?

Despite these countless setbacks, the trees were indeed growing sparse. Hopefully, a town was near whatever damn forest this was.

Harry had spent nearly an entire decade in this form: weak, brittle, and unable to sustain a physical form for any significant period of time. He had fled from his native British Isles in hope of finding a solution for this dilemma on the continent. So far, however, his weakened form prevented him from any permanent resolutions.

After all this time, though, hope was blooming within him. Only recently, Harry had regained enough strength to force himself on small animals. With a physical body in his grasp, perhaps after all this time, his search would be a success.

A steady rustle ahead of him stopped his progress. Harry flicked his tongue out, smelling the presence of a man. The realization leapt upon him like fire, and his mind only processed what that could mean for him – freedom.

"Dark Lord Voldemort? Are you here?" A reedy young man was calling out foolishly. A flick of his tongue detected small deviations in body temperature in the man; perhaps he was eager? Nervous? A sadistic happiness flooded Harry. The man should be terrified; he had certainly found Lord Voldemort. Now, the man would help him in his search, whether he wanted to or not.

* * *

'_Do you not understand_?' Lord Voldemort softly intoned. _'I, Quirinus, am all powerful. I cannot be stopped - not by the likes of a pathetic excuse of a wizard like you, or by a wizard like Dumbledore. Would you like proof of my power? You did not think I would not notice you trying to reach out to Harry Potter, did you? How is an eleven year old boy supposed to save you?_'

Quirrell grimaced horribly, unable to hold back a strangled, keening sound. _'He has beaten you once before. He can do it again. He will save me, I am sure of it!_'

'_Ah_,' Lord Voldemort replied teasingly. _'And why should he want to? He is but a boy. Why should he have to do a man's work when said man cannot do it himself?_'

'_Because he beat you once before!_' Quirrell protested, nearly in tears. _'You cannot kill him! He's the Boy-Who-Lived!_'

'_Yes, you've said as much_,' Lord Voldemort drawled. _'But he was only a baby at the time. Why would he fight me now when he could join me instead?_'

'_Because you are a monster!_' Quirrell gasped, his stomach wrenching painfully. _'He would never join a monster like you!_'

* * *

Harry glided up the winding staircase, stopping briefly to brush away the snow that adorned his shoulders. Pale white knuckles rapped quietly on the door in front of him, receiving a soft "Enter." for their trouble.

Those very same knuckles flicked outwards and the door opened slowly, revealing a long haired, wire-rimmed wizard with his hands folded easily atop his desk.

"Good evening, Tom," Albus Dumbledore spoke lightly. "Won't you sit down?"

"Thank you," Harry said softly, slowly taking his place in the cushioned chair to which his old professor had gestured.

"I heard that you had become headmaster – a worthy choice."

Headmaster Dumbledore's eyes crinkled as a benign smile adorned his features. "I'm glad you approve. May I offer you a drink?"

Harry dipped his chin slightly. "That would be welcome," He said. "I have come a long way."

Harry watched with bloodshot eyes as Headmaster Dumbledore stood with the grace he had come to expect from his old Transfiguration instructor. Dumbledore strode to and opened a cabinet occupied with liquor bottles. In a matter of moments, Harry was holding a goblet of wine and Dumbledore was seated once more.

"So, Tom…to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Ah, what a loaded question. Harry sipped politely at his wine for a moment as he ordered his thoughts.

"They do not call me 'Tom' anymore," He decided on addressing first. "These days, I am known as – "

"I know what you are known as," Headmaster Dumbledore smiled. "But to me, I'm afraid, you will always be known as Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers. I am afraid that they never quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings."

Anger frothed inside of Harry, though he kept such feelings out of his expression. Had he asked for anything unreasonable of Albus Dumbledore? He had only asked to be called by his proper name – and that is what it was, truly; the alias 'Tom Riddle' left something to be desired.

"I am surprised you have remained here so long," Harry said chillingly, staring crookedly into the eyes of his former teacher. "I always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school."

Headmaster Dumbledore was patronizing him once more, still smiling that dratted smile. "Well, to a wizard such as myself, there can be nothing more important than passing on ancient skills, helping hone young minds. If I remember correctly, you once saw the attraction of teaching, too."

"I see it still," Harry corrected him. "I merely wondered why you – who are so often asked for advice by the Ministry, and who have twice, I think, been offered the post of Minister – "

Three times, at the last count, actually," Albus Dumbledore said. "But the Ministry never attracted me as a career. Again, something we have in common, I think."

Harry inclined his head, acknowledging that fact before taking another sip from his goblet. He could care less for politics or the greed that most in the profession shared. There were more…potent forms of power.

Headmaster Dumbledore inspected the fingernails of his left hand before smiling once more at him. It seemed that he would be the one to break the silence.

"I have…returned – later perhaps, than Professor Dippet expected," Harry murmured. "But I have returned, nevertheless, to request again what he once told me I was too young to have. I have come to you to ask that you permit me to return to this castle, to teach. I think that you must know that I have seen and done much since I left this place. I could show and tell your students things they can gain from no other wizard."

Harry leaned back slightly at the end of his diatribe to take in Dumbledore's expression. The elder wizard's right eye was narrowed slightly and his gaze sharp and calculating. That was fine – something to be admired, even. But Harry was not nervous. He was here for the reasons he had stated.

Well - amongst others.

"Yes, I certainly do know that you have seen and done much since leaving us," said Dumbledore, a bit tiredly if Harry was hearing correctly. "Rumors of your doings have reached your old school, Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them."

Harry's brow twitched minutely at Dumbledore's admonishment.

"Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore."

The blue eyes staring back at him swam with pity. "You call it 'greatness,' what you have been doing, do you?" asked Dumbledore delicately.

Harry resisted the urge to scoff. "Certainly," he said. "I have experimented; I have pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, than they have ever been pushed –"

"Of some kinds of magic," Dumbledore interrupted him quietly. "Of some. Of others, you remain…forgive me…woefully ignorant."

Harry smiled a lecherous leer. Oh, he knew what he must look like – a monster with pale, inhuman features – but if Dumbledore only knew. If he only _knew_.

Dumbledore was too ignorant to even be classified as such.

"An old argument," Harry uttered softly as he glanced down at his goblet. "But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncement that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore."

Albus Dumbledore made a small noise of disagreement. "Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places," He suggested.

Harry smiled once more. "Well, then, what better place to start my fresh researches than here, at Hogwarts?" He asked. "Will you let me return? Will you let me share my knowledge with your students? I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command."

A lie – for Lord Voldemort would _never_ be commanded – but surely Dumbledore could see his offer for what it was: a truce of sorts, despite their differences, to help the Wizarding World of Great Britain to achieve its ultimate destiny.

If _not_…well, his plans would continue forward.

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose skeptically and Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This man was uncompromising to a fault.

"And what will become of those whom you command? What will happen to those who call themselves – or so rumor has it – the Death Eaters?"

Harry's features tightened with seething rage; he had not expected his old teacher to be privy of such information, but he now saw that that expectation was foolish. Dumbledore trusted him even less now than when he was a schoolboy.

"My friends," He uttered slowly. "Will be fine without me, I am sure."

And they would be. He was their master – they would wait. He possessed all the time in the world, after all.

Dumbledore nodded deeply at his words. "I am glad to hear that you consider them friends," He said. "I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants."

'_They are simply aware of their place in this world_,' Harry raged inwardly. "You are mistaken."

"Then if I were to go to the Hog's Head tonight, I would not find a group of them – Nott, Rosier, Mulciber, Dolohov – awaiting your return? Devoted friends indeed, to travel this far with you on a snowy night, merely to wish you good luck as you attempted to secure a teaching post."

Harry sneered poisonously. As always, Dumbledore was using factual information to reach the wrong conclusion.

"You are as omniscient as ever, Dumbledore," He mocked.

"Oh no," Dumbledore dismissed lightly. "Merely friendly with the local barmen Now, Tom…"

Dumbledore steepled his fingers atop a modest amount of paperwork, looking every bit the Headmaster that he was. Harry's blood curled at the sight.

"Let us speak openly. Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know that you do not want?"

'_You presume to know my heart, Dumbledore_?' Harry thought contemptuously. "A job I do not want? On the contrary, Dumbledore, I want it very much."

"Oh, you want to come back to Hogwarts, but you do not want to teach any more than you wanted to when you are eighteen," Dumbledore countered. "What is it you're after, Tom? Why not try an open request for once?"

Harry sneered at the old man's audacity. His request so far was as open as he would ever be with this man. "If you do not want to give me a job –"

"Of course I don't," Dumbledore said neutrally. "And I don't think for a moment you expected me to. Nevertheless, you came here, you asked, you must have a purpose."

Harry stood quickly as anger threatened to overtake him. "This is your final word?"

Dumbledore stood slowly to match him. "It is."

Harry turned on the dime and strode for the door. "Then we have nothing more to say to each other."

"No, nothing," The sadness and pity in that old voice nearly had Harry spinning around with rage. "The time is long gone when I could frighten you with a burning wardrobe and force you to make repayment for your crimes. But I wish I could, Tom…I wish I could…"

Harry did spin with the end of Dumbledore's spiel, his right hand itching to prove to the man in front of him that such 'repayment' was inconsequential. Instead, he exited the door swiftly, allowing the man to seal his own fate.

* * *

"Lily! It's him…."

Lights and sounds invaded his senses. A crash echoed from downstairs, and quick footsteps reverberated through the open door.

Harry blinked and tried to process what was happening.

"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please, not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside now!"

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead – "

"I have no problems killing you both if I have to! This is your last warning, girl - stand aside!"

"Not Harry! Please, have mercy…have mercy…"

Laughter rang out through the room, louder than any of the woman's sobs.

"My mercy seems to have run dry tonight. _Avada Kedavra_."

Green light shone brightly, removing all the shadows from the room. Harry looked up blearily to see red hair, twirling and falling and dull, green eyes meeting his own. The light faded, but Harry was awake now. He was awake and intensely aware of his surroundings.

'_Not Harry_!'

"Wasteful woman," The voice above him spat out distastefully. The pale man looked down at him. "I gave her a choice, did I not?"

Harry looked up and moved slightly, his small hand enclosing on the plushy dragon near the head of his crib – a dragon his father had presented to him with a joyful grin not too long ago.

"Your mother was foolish – same as your father. But they were brave, I'll give them that."

A wand was soon pointing down at him, only inches away from his forehead. Harry looked into the red eyes that stared back down at him. The eyes betrayed no emotion, and the voice was unnaturally neutral.

"I do not normally act in such a manner, but I cannot take any chances, boy. If you have the ability to defeat me, I must act."

Pale features hardened as if the chill of fall had descended upon them.

"I…regret that this is the way it must be. Magical power is precious. May you find peace in your after-life. Goodbye."

Green eyes. Red eyes. Green. Red. _Green _everywhere.

Pain.

* * *

"Harry, wake up!"

Harry opened his eyes with a jolt, the dark green of his four poster bed greeting him much more warmly than the loud voice from outside his bed. The green surrounding him appeared hazy and his brain swam before adjusting, his vision sharp and clear.

Harry grinned. He grinned, that is, until he tried to sit up.

"Fuck! My back!" Harry groaned into his left fist, his right arm going to support his lower back. He had very little time to stretch and work out the kinks, as Draco Malfoy ripped open the curtains of his four-poster, beaming eagerly at his friend.

"You up yet?" Draco gushed. "Professor Snape wants all of the Slytherins in the Common Room in five minutes. Apparently something huge happened last night."

Harry glared hotly at Draco, but it went unnoticed in the boy's enthusiasm. Instead, Harry winced at the violent crackling of his spine as his heels met the carpeted floor of his dorm room. Standing, Harry became painfully aware that it wasn't just his back that was causing him trouble; his knees, ankles, hips – basically all of his joints – throbbed with soreness.

"What do you think this is all about?" Blaise mumbled, in a similar state to Harry.

Draco shrugged carelessly. "Some students were out past curfew last night and vandalized some stuff, I'd wager. What else could get Snape this upset?"

"Don't care," Vincent Crabbe growled from his own four-poster. "Must sleep."

"You okay, Harry?" Theo called from across the room, tying his nightgown around his waist. Harry only grimaced in return as he looked for his own nightgown.

"What time is it?" Harry asked gruffly. The soreness of his body had quickly soured his mood. On top of that, he couldn't be arsed to care about anything this bloody early in the morning. What happened that couldn't wait a couple of hours?

"Quarter past four," Draco practically chirped. Harry met the boy with an incredulous stare.

"You taking the piss?" said Harry.

Draco shook his head with a grin. "Not at all – c'mon, I want to go see what all this fuss is about."

Harry shook his head slowly before leaning to one side, stretching the muscles of his abdomen. He went to follow the other boys out into the Common Room, but a voice he wouldn't forget stopped him in his tracks:

'_Quite interesting dreams you have, Harry_.'

His right arm flinched violently, reaching up to grasp at his forehead. The voice was not one he had…heard, precisely, but his brain seemed to have processed it as such. Where had it come from?

"Harry, seriously, let's go," Draco said, a bit of petulance coloring his voice. Theo was looking at him from the threshold in concern.

Harry swept out the door and Theo shut the door behind him, unaware of what was transpiring inside Harry's mind.

'_Voldemort_!'

'_Morning, sunshine_.'

Harry took a breath much deeper than he had anticipated as the events of the previous night crashed upon him like a tidal wave. The ritual, the centaur, Lord Voldemort…_Ron_.

God, his knees hurt. Was that the ritual?

'_Forgot me already, have you? I'm insulted…have you recalled what happened yesterday evening?_'

'_Yeah – all of that just hit me_,' Harry found himself thinking. Apparently that was all it took to get a response from Voldemort.

'_Excellent. No regrets, I hope?_'

Harry shook his head marginally – it was a jerky motion, and Harry wanted to kick himself for physically responding to a…mental question.

'_What happened after I, er, fell asleep?_'

Harry could hear – well, not hear, exactly, but sense – a trace of amusement in Voldemort's disembodied reply.

'_I took care of things: wiped clean all the evidence of your ritual, positioned the bodies of Ronald Weasley and Quirinus Quirrell in a place that they would be found, and got you tucked away safely into your own bed – aren't I nice?_'

Harry ignored the sugar-sweet sarcasm at the end of Voldemort's statement in favor of evaluating the situation – you know, the situation of having a dead classmate and a fucking Dark Lord sharing your body.

Harry stalled slightly before answering as he followed the other Slytherin boys up into the Common Room. The room was crowded and completely dark save the fire crackling in the hearth.

'…_So what now? How is this going to work, exactly? What are you capable of doing to me and what do I need to do to benefit from our…association?_'

Voldemort was silent for a moment longer, answering just as Harry crossed the threshold and into the Common Room.

'_Now, we move forward. I have several things that I'd like to accomplish before obtaining the Philosopher's Stone and I'm sure you have your own aspirations. We shall accomplish them together. I cannot read your mind – our minds are still separate – so please feel at home within your own body_.'

Harry bit back a small grin despite his nervousness. Dry humor from the Dark Lord. Who would have thought it?

'_As long as you do not oppose me, per our agreement, you can expect no negative consequences. If you have any questions or anything you wish to learn about…I am here_.'

'_Wait a minute – didn't you say Quirrell was fighting you?_' Harry questioned suddenly, ignoring the thrill of having an instructor for a moment. '_Don't you need to, I dunno, rest or something?_'

A dark chuckle echoed through his own ears. '_If you were anyone else, I would…but I happened upon a most pleasant surprise when entering your body_.'

Harry's brow furrowed. '_Care to share with the class, Voldemort?_'

'_Not at all_.'

Harry grunted as the chuckle within his mind heightened into full-blown laughter.

'_You're going to tutor me on some Dark spells that I've happened upon later_.'

'_I eagerly await the opportunity. Hopefully, you are worth my time._'

'_Fuck you_.'

Voldemort laughed once more, though the laughter was much more pleasant, as if he were genuinely amused.

"Silence," Professor Snape drawled unnecessarily, sweeping into the Common Room as if it were not four in the bloody morning. "I require everyone's undivided attention – including yours, Mr. Flint."

Harry looked over, following the direction of Professor Snape's gaze to see Marcus Flint slouched back in a leather recliner by the hearth with his eyes closed. The boy scowled at the Professor, but straightened in his chair at the admonishment.

"I apologize for the time of this meeting, but due to an immediate emergency, this House meeting is necessary. Last night, both a student and Professor were found dead in a vacant classroom on the second floor of the castle. At this time, we have no information on the cause of death of the two individuals, but a Ministry-sponsored investigation will commence after dawn. As a result, the Headmaster has decided to close the school for an indefinite amount of time until this situation is resolved. Your guardians have all been notified and the Hogwarts Express will be taking you all to Kings Cross after an early breakfast."

Harry tried not to tense – he was the only one in the school to know what had happened, after all - and Voldemort's quiet laughter was not helping his case. The reaction from his fellow Slytherins, however, intrigued him.

The room was silent, save the popping sounds of the fire. Most of the Slytherins seemed to be looking around to see if anyone was missing, a reaction that Harry had not expected. He had expected unrestrained exclamations and instant questions.

Ah – there we go.

"Professor," a curly brown haired fifth year girl with an awful case of bed-head asked. "Who died? It wasn't a Slytherin, was it?"

Professor Snape narrowed his eyes, silently rebuking the girl for speaking out of turn. "Professor Quirrell lost his life last night, Ms. McClellan, as well as Ronald Weasley, a first year Gryffindor."

"Did someone kill them?"

A Snapish glare quelled that question. "Let me reiterate – a Ministry investigation is commence in mere hours. As of now, the Headmaster does not wish to reveal any information. Breakfast shall be served in the Great Hall in a half hour; I recommend that you all take the time to make yourselves suitable for the journey back home. The house elves will care for your belongings – Mr. Potter, will you please join me in my office for a moment?"

Harry snapped out of his daze to see Snape's black eyes upon him.

"What does Professor Snape want?" Draco asked softly, nudging Harry in his midsection.

Harry shrugged, shaking his head slightly as noise started to break out amongst his housemates. "I reckon I won't know until I speak to him, will I?"

'_It's no mystery, I assure you_,' Voldemort drawled with a polite snort – as much as that made sense, in Harry's head. '_Severus was aware of my presence in Quirrell's body as well as my interest in you_.'

'_Interest_?' Harry scoffed. '_Makes you sound like a right pervert, doesn't it?_'

Voldemort chuckled darkly as Harry made his way through the Slytherin crowd to follow Professor Snape to his office. '_Everything about me could be considered 'perverted,' Harry, from my morals to my career choice._'

'_Oh, so that's what being a Dark Lord's like, huh? Seems like it would be more fun than that._'

'_Dealing with imbeciles all day and eleven year old brats that strip my soul from my body make it more of a job than it could be_,' Voldemort replied dryly.

Harry ducked his head to hide a smirk. Professor Snape had turned without uttering a word and was now leading him down the corridor to his office.

'So how do we handle this?' Harry questioned lightly. If Snape was going to be asking questions about Voldemort – well, he ought to include the man in question, right? Snape _was_ his…servant.

'_By all means, Harry, handle this however you wish,_' Voldemort replied with amusement. '_If I wanted to make myself known to Severus, it would be ever too easy._'

'_Planning to possess me, then?_' Harry could hear the sharp bite to his words, even in his own head. '_Because let me tell you right now, that's a stupid plan_.'

Voldemort's tone grew much frostier. '_I have many more options available to me than that, boy. And if I chose to go that route, you would not have much say in the matter._'

Harry bit back a retort; Professor Snape had stopped suddenly in front of him with his wand brandished, unlocking the door to his office.

"Please enter, Mr. Potter," Professor Snape said, not bothering to hold the door open for him.

Harry ducked in quickly, rolling the growing stiffness out of his neck and shoulders before settling himself into a sturdy wooden chair. The usually dark office was even darker this early in the morning. Snape lit a couple of candles on his desk with his wand, but the lighting it provided was wholly insignificant.

Professor Snape pulled out a parchment scroll from his desk drawer and held it out to the candlelight, his large, hooked nose nearly pressing into the parchment as he surveyed the ink.

"Your latest essay," Professor Snape stated slowly. "Another 'outstanding.'"

The professor did not look happy about that fact, but Harry took the parchment back without a word. Harry could feel the man's eyes on him, but he remained patient; Snape wanted him here for something, after all.

"The Headmaster wanted me to collect you, but before you take my floo up to Professor Dumbledore's office, I would like to ask you a question, Mr. Potter."

Harry met the Potions Professor's gaze with a slight raise of his eyebrows – certainly not an impolite expression, but one of vague curiosity. The man's eyes were not hostile, but they held a seriousness that kept Harry quiet.

"Do you realize," Professor Snape started lowly. "That the last known whereabouts of Ronald Weasley were in the Great Hall, where the two of you were fighting like children?"

"Are you accusing me of do-"

"I know a Killing Curse when I see one, Potter," Professor Snape replied sharply. "And I realize that Professor Quirrell met a similar fate. But no, I am not accusing a first year child of such acts, you buffoon; I want to know what the two of you were arguing over."

Harry hid his puzzlement over Quirrell's "similar fate" as Voldemort made his amusement clear. "We were arguing over Quidditch, sadly enough – or, at least, we were at first. Ron insulted Draco several times and then raised his wand at us. I'd had enough when he did that."

Professor Snape nodded slowly, but pressed on. "And what about Quidditch would cause wands to be drawn?"

"Well, I'm Slytherin's new seeker," Harry admitted. "And word had gotten out. Ron thought that was a right laugh and Draco defended me. It was…petty, but it was dealt with."

Professor Snape straightened, leaning away from the candles on his desk. "Who put you on the Quidditch team, Potter, and why was I not aware of this?"

Harry couldn't stop himself from laughing. Boy, that was ironic. "Well, Sykes made the decision to put me on the Quidditch team yesterday afternoon – despite my not having a broom or anything. I guess he was planning to tell you today if not for the 'two people are dead' situation."

Harry couldn't see it, but it sounded like Professor Snape had snorted. "Alright, Potter. The Headmaster wants to see you before you return home. I am assuming that you do not plan to go back to your orphanage?"

"Of course not," Harry said scathingly. He had not even thought about that, but _of course_ he was not going back. "Hopefully Lucius would be willing to have me over – he said so before school started."

"Very well, very well," Snape stood. "Keep me up to date of your whereabouts. I need to be able to reach you when school resumes, after all."

Harry nodded, tentatively scooting his chair back as Snape lit the hearth in his office. Seriously, why hadn't he done that before? Professor Snape held his floo powder out to Harry, but a skeptical expression crossed his face.

"You plan to meet with the Headmaster – the person you've asked to mentor you - in a nightgown?" Professor Snape drawled.

Harry only avoided rolling his eyes because a yawn happened first. "It's not like I had a chance to change, Professor. We all just rolled out of bed, after all."

"…Clearly," Professor Snape spoke critically as he eyed Harry's hair. "And I thought your hair could look no worse."

Bastard. "So how did you know that I asked Professor Dumbledore to teach me?" Harry asked, scooping up a handful of floo powder.

Professor Snape made a harrumphing sound in the back of his throat. "I am your Head of House, Potter; did you think that he would keep me in the dark of your pursuits?"

Harry stepped into the grate before, smiling sleepily as the green flames licked warmly at his legs. "Of course not, Professor. I just did not know how you Professors like to pass around information."

Harry rubbed his left arm before looking up. "Don't worry too much about it, though; I've found someone who's willing to help me out."

Professor Snape's eyebrows rose. "And who might that be?"

Harry couldn't stop the grin that met his face. "Oh, you know him. Headmaster's Office!"

* * *

" – doesn't explain how something like this could happen, Albus! Let alone what the media will think of it! They'll be demanding our heads for this!"

Harry stumbled slightly as he stepped into the Headmaster's office, which seemed to be the site of a tense verbal debate. Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix looked up at him before tucking its head back underneath a wing.

Professor Snape's contempt for Harry's state of dress seemed unjustified, he thought, as he eyed the attire of Professor Dumbledore and his guest. Professor Dumbledore was wearing the robe he had worn at dinner the previous evening and it was severely rumpled. The Headmaster's guest, however, was a stout little wizard who wore pajamas with small hearts adorning them underneath a long black cloak, clasped clumsily under his neck. A lime-green bowler hat was tipped awkwardly on cow-licked grey hair and Harry noticed faint bags under the man's brown eyes.

"Good morning, Harry," Dumbledore smiled, seemingly relieved to be rid of the other man's whining for a few seconds.

"Harry Potter?" The other man squawked, his head turning quickly back to Harry as he moved to stand. "Cornelius Oswald Fudge, your Minister of Magic – so very pleased to meet you, Harry."

Harry shook the man's hand and forced a smile. "Nice to meet you too, Minister. Morning, Headmaster."

'Lovely little meeting here that I get to eavesdrop on,' Voldemort said drawled with amusement. 'It always is nice to see the fruits of one's work.'

Harry let out a quick exhale as Professor Dumbledore nodded to one of the chairs across from his desk, shaking his head slightly at Voldemort's words. Minister Fudge placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him to the chair before settling into the one next to him. Fudge's frustration seemed to be quelled now, Harry thought. Was he the cause of that?

"Well, Harry, how have your classes been this week?" Professor Dumbledore asked pleasantly, taking a small sip from the saucer on his desk. "Not too much trouble from Professor Snape, I hope?"

Harry shook his head, noticing Fudge's interest in his answer. "No sir, Professor Snape has been fine. He handed back my essay a few minutes ago. I got an 'Outstanding' on it."

"Splendid!" Minister Fudge clapped. "It's always nice to hear about children doing exceptional work in their studies! Do you have any plans for your future, Harry?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at the Minister's…enthusiasm as he ignored Voldemort's laughter. Harry looked briefly at Professor Dumbledore to see an amused expression as well before answering: "I have not decided on anything, sir, but I'll be sure to let you know when I do."

"I am sure that you will be excellent, whenever you decide," Minister Fudge beamed, tipping his bowler hat slightly before directing his attention to Professor Dumbledore.

"Albus, are you sure that you have no information – "

"Cornelius, please," Professor Dumbledore intervened, raising a hand to stall the Minister of Magic. "This is not a conversation to be held in the presence of a student. I have informed you of everything that I am aware; you will have to bring in your Aurors and I will grant the media entrance into the castle once all the students are safely away on the train. Now, Harry, I asked for you to be brought up here to see if there is anything you might know – anything at all – of either Ronald Weasley's or Professor Quirrell's disappearances last night."

Harry shook his head calmly, looking straight into Professor Dumbledore's blue, bespectacled eyes. "No, sir. Ron and I got into a bit of a fight at dinner last night over Quidditch, but that was the last I saw of him. Did – did they die together?"

'_Ah - nice touch_,' Voldemort praised.

'_I do try_.'

"There's still an investigation scheduled – I presume Professor Snape notified you of as much?" Harry nodded. "Very well, then. By the time you return to Hogwarts from your home, all of this will be resolved."

Harry stalled. The orphanage was _not_ his home. "I – er – I hadn't planned on going home, sir."

Professor Dumbledore steepled his fingers and tilted his head slightly. "Do you have some other place of residence in mind?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir. I doubt that the school will be closed for long, but Lucius Malfoy has said in the past that I'm always welcome in their home. Hopefully he will be willing to have me."

"Oh, Lucius – a fine fellow, Harry," Minister Fudge winked. "I'm sure there will be no problems, there."

Harry smiled, but noticed the frown on Professor Dumbledore's face. It seemed that the Headmaster had a problem with it.

"I'll be writing Professor Snape over the break, however long it lasts," Harry added. There was no way he would let Professor Dumbledore prevent himself from going to the Malfoys'. Well, he still needed to tell Draco, but that could wait.

"Alright, then," Professor Dumbledore agreed, rubbing long fingers along the length of his beard. "As for your request? I should be available to begin once classes resume."

Harry straightened in his seat immediately. "Really? That's great!"

'_Not good enough for you, am I?_' Voldemort spat. Seriously, Harry thought, where had that come from?

'_Two instructors are better than one_,' Harry retorted. _'Why would I turn him down when he's willing to help me?_'

"I look forward to it," Professor Dumbledore smiled. Minister Fudge was looking between them.

"Alright, then," Fudge coughed delicately. "I need to head off to the Ministry and get in touch with Amelia. We should be back out here after lunch. That's enough time to get the students out of here, I trust?"

Professor Dumbledore nodded once before moving to usher Minister Fudge to the fire. "Certainly. I will see you this afternoon, Cornelius."

"Wait, Albus!" Fudge cried, standing to put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'd like to escort Harry here back to his dormitory. You don't mind, do you?"

Harry looked up at Professor Dumbledore with an expression that he hoped screamed, 'Sure, why not?' Dumbledore chuckled slightly. "Of course not. My office will be open to you when you return."

"Excellent! Shall we, Harry?"

Harry stood, working the stiffness back out of his limbs before letting the Minister lead him down Dumbledore's spiral staircase.

'_You've piqued his interest – or at least your name has_,' Voldemort revealed smugly. It seemed he was over whatever his problem had been. '_Lucius, Dumbledore, and now Fudge all wanting to assist you. Your work is very impressive, Harry_.'

'_Oh, shut it. And don't forget that you're on that list as well,_' Harry retorted, forcing another smile on his face as Minister Fudge wrapped a hand around his arm. As much as Harry was annoyed by Voldemort's point, he was right, Harry thought as Minister Fudge eagerly spoke about his job. There were certainly worse things than having the Minister of Magic backing you.

* * *

**Aaaaand finally it is done. Fun little chapter, eh? Lots of interesting tidbits and budding plotlines. It was a bitch to write, I assure you. **

**I do want to take the time real quick to say thanks. I've received over 130k hits on this story so far, nearly 500 reviews, 800+ favorites, and 1300+ alerts. That is all so awesome - it makes me feel like I'm actually accomplishing something, you know? I'm 20 years old and have accomplished next to nothing in my life so far. So, sincerely, thank you. I read every review and try to reply to every question. So if you have any questions, let me know!**

**Enough of that tender crap, though; did you like the dreams that Harry had? He's not speaking about them or acknowledging them yet because I want you all to really process them. Let 'em marinate. **

**You can follow the story and all its updates on Twitter, if you'd like. Did I mention that? BrigadeEitD**

**I'm horrible, I know. I'll see you soon, though. Oh, and let me know if you see any mistakes. You know I don't proofread these things.**

**Brigade**


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